THE  LIBRARY 

OF 
THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 
LOS  ANGELES 


'//  you  of  en  that  fared  I  will  Prosecute  you,'  cried  Trefusis, 
rather  wildly." 


The   Trifler 


A  LOVE  COMEDY 


BY 


ARCHIBALD  ,EYRE 


ILLUSTRATED    BY   ARCHIE   GUNN 


19O3 

The  Smart  Set  Publishing  Co. 

NEW  YORK        LONDON 


COPYRIGHTED 
1903,  by 
J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT 
COMPANY 


COPYRIGHTED 
1903,  by 
THE  SMART  SET 
PUBLISHING  CO. 


First  Printing  Oct. 


m 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    MY  BROTHER'S  MARRIAGE, 15 

II.    A  TANGLED  WEB, 23 

III.  MORE  WORRY, 43 

IV.  IN  OPEN  CONFLICT, 47 

V.     MOLLY,  71 

VI.    AN  ANGRY  FATHER, 91 

VII.  HUMBLE  PIE,           .        .        .    '    .        .        .        .109 

VIII.    BROTHERLY  SOLICITUDE 129 

IX.    MILLY, 141 

X.    VICARS'  SERMON, ,        .167 

XI.  THE  PRIG  AND  THE  WORLDLING,         .        .        .187 

XII.    TREFUSIS  AGAIN, 199 

XIII.  FIRST  BLOOD, 207 

XIV.  OUR  FIRST  MEETING, 217 

XV.    CALUMNY, 225 

XVI.    TRIUMPH, 235 

XVII.    FAILURE, 245 

XVIII.    His  REAL  FRIEND 255 

XIX.     ENTRAPPED 265 

XX.    POOR  MOLLY, 277 


1.5GCG02 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXI.    MOLLY  WRITES, 287 

XXII.    MOLLY  RETURNS, 299 

XXIII.  MATCHMAKING, 311 

XXIV.  GILBERT'S  STORY, 323 

XXV.    THE  END 331 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

"  *  If  you  open  that  parcel  I  will 
prosecute  you, '  cried  Trefusis, 
rather  wildly."  -  -  Frontispiece 

"He  stopped  dead,  and  his  face 

changed  slightly."  Page   101 

"Molly  rose  from   her  seat,   her 

face  the  color  of  the  sunset"         Page   z6j 

"'Yoti  do  not  appreciate  the 
gravity  of  the  sittiation,'  he 
said."  Page  213 

"  Trefusis"  Page   24.3 

"  Staring    at    us    with     terrified 

eyes,  stood  Molly. "         -  Page   275 


THE    TRIFLER 


THE    TRIFLER 

CHAPTER  I 

MY   BROTHER'S   MARRIAGE 


A^TER  a  courtship  that  lasted  only  a  few 
months  my  brother  Gerald  married  and 
departed  on  his  honeymoon.  As  a 
younger  brother,  not  too  well  endowed  with  this 
world's  goods,  and  dependent  for  comfortable  liv- 
ing on  his  good  will,  I  sighed  a  little  as  I  performed 
the  functions  of  best  man.  He  had  allowed  forty 
years  to  pass  without  evincing  any  desire  for  mat- 
rimony; he  had  assured  me  frequently  that  he  was 
"  wedded  "  to  political  life;  and  only  a  few  months 
previously  he  had  been  elevated  to  Cabinet  rank. 
Certainly,  none  of  these  things  entitled  me  to  as- 
sume that  he  would  never  marry,  but  as  he  was 
fifteen  years  my  senior,  and  seemed  quite  remark- 
ably old  for  his  age,  I  had  gradually  convinced 
myself  that  he  would  always  remain  a  bachelor. 

However,  the  unexpected  happened,  and  if  any- 
one was  to  blame,  I  suppose  I  was,  for  I  had  intro- 

[15] 


THE   TRIFLER 

duced  him  to  Mabel  Fielders  at  Henley.  If  my 
brother  had  to  get  married,  he  could  not  have  made 
a  better  choice,  for  Mabel  was  very  pretty,  not  too 
young,  and  of  excellent  family. 

I  called  just  after  their  engagement  was  an- 
nounced, and  happened  on  one  of  the  rare  occa- 
sions when  she  was  alone. 

"  So  you  are  actually  going  to  marry  my  big 
brother?  "  I  said,  with  a  melancholy  shake  of  my 
head.  "  I  do  hope  you  won't  regret  it." 

"  Regret  it?  No,  I  do  not  think  I  shall  regret 
it."  There  was  a  soft  light  in  her  eyes  and  a  deli- 
cate tinge  on  her  cheek. 

1  You  mustn't  let  him  bore  you  with  his  politics." 

"  Oh,  I  take  a  tremendous  interest  in  politics.  It 
is  delightful  that  your  brother  is  in  the  Cabinet.  I 
am  quite  looking  forward  to — to  helping  him." 

"  I  suppose  you  will  start  a  salon,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing,"  I  said  a  little  ironically,  for  it  was 
amusing  to  learn  that  Mabel  was  so  keenly  inter- 
ested in  political  affairs. 

"  I  am  sure  we  shall  be  very  happy,  and — and — 
I  hope  you  will  always  look  on  me  as  a  sister — a 
very  dear  sister." 

"  Oh,   certainly,"   I    replied,    readily    enough. 
Mabel  was  always  pretty,  but  I  have  noticed  that 
when  a  girl  gets  engaged  to  a  man  for  whom  she 
[16] 


MY   BROTHER'S    MARRIAGE 

cares,  her  looks  immediately  improve.     "  What  a 
lot  of  new  brothers  I  shall  have,"  I  added. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  asked  Mabel.  "  I  am 
an  only  child,  as  you  know." 

"  I  thought  that  perhaps  you  had  promised  to 
be  a  sister  to  all  those  scores  of  unhappy  men  you 
must  have  rejected  in  my  brother's  favor." 

"  No  nice  girl  has  to  refuse  scores  of  men,"  she 
returned  indignantly.  "  And,  even  if  she  had,  she 
would  not  offer  to  be  their  sister.  I  am  afraid  you 
take  your  views  of  women  from  the  comic  papers." 

"  How  did  you  manage,  then?  "  I  went  on  idly. 
"  You  must  have  had  lots  of  experience." 

"  I  have  not,"  she  asserted  warmly.  '  You 
seem  to  think  I  have  been  a  heartless  flirt." 

"  Oh,  no,"  I  replied  politely.  "  By  the  way,  I 
haven't  seen  George  Trefusis  lately." 

She  was  putting  a  lump  of  sugar  into  a  teacup, 
and  the  lump  missed  the  cup  and  fell  into  the 
saucer.  She  looked  up  with  a  scared  expression. 
"  Whatever  put  Mr.  Trefusis  into  your  head?  " 

"  I  cannot  follow  the  association  of  ideas."  But 
I  noticed  she  could,  for  her  face  had  lost  something 
of  its  brightness.  "  It  just  occurred  to  me  that  I 
had  not  seen  him  lately." 

"  He  went  to  Australia,"  she  replied  con- 
strainedly. 

[17] 


THE   TRIFLER 

"For  good?" 

"  Oh,  no.  Only  to  look  after  some  property 
there.  I  believe  he  will  be  back  shortly." 

"  He  will  be  glad  to  hear  of  your  engagement. 
You  were  great  friends." 

"Were  we?" 

"Were  you  not?" 

"  I  don't  know."  She  handed  me  my  cup  and 
sat  down  in  an  armchair,  staring  abstractedly  out 
of  the  window. 

The  conversation  seemed  in  danger  of  collapsing. 
"  I  knew  Trefusis  at  Oxford,"  I  threw  in,  to  keep 
it  going. 

She  turned  quickly  towards  me.  "  Did  you  know 
him  well?" 

"  Yes,  fairly  well." 

She  dropped  her  voice.  "  And  did  you  like 
him?" 

"  No,  I  can't  say  I  did." 

She  sat  up  in  her  chair.  "  But  at  first — when 
you  first  knew  him?  "  she  asked  eagerly. 

"  I  think  he  rather  attracted  me  at  the  outset,"  I 
owned  rather  reluctantly. 

She  gave  a  little  sigh.  "  That  is  the  experience 
of  everyone  who  meets  him." 

;t  Trefusis  is  a  mystery,"  I  observed,  "  and  I  am 
not  sure  I  want  to  know  the  solution." 
[18] 


MY    BROTHER'S   MARRIAGE 

"  He  has  such  nice  eyes,"  she  continued  dreamily. 
"  Such  beautiful,  brown,  faithful,  dog-like  eyes. 
He  is  so  frank  and  boyish  in  manner." 

"  In  manner — yes." 

"  So  handsome  and  polite  and  considerate." 

"  He  does  appear  so." 

She  frowned  thoughtfully.  "That's  just  it! 
And  in  reality " 

"  In  reality " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  what  he  is  in  reality.  Does 
anyone?  Do  you?  " 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't." 
'  Then  why  did  you  say  you  didn't  like  him  ?  " 

"Did  I  say  so?" 

"  Of  course  you  did." 

"  I  don't  know  why  I  don't  like  him." 

"  Have  you  ever  known  him  to  do  a  mean 
thing?" 

I  hesitated.  "  Well,  I  am  not  certain,  but  some- 
how or  other  if " 

"If  what?" 

I  drew  my  chair  closer  to  hers.  "  I  don't  know  if 
you  have  noticed,"  I  said  confidentially,  "  that  some 
misfortune  invariably  happens  to  anyone  who  of- 
fends him.  We  noticed  it  at  Oxford.  It  became  a 
byword." 

Mabel  looked  at  me  with  startled  eyes.    "  I  have 
[19] 


THE   TRIFLER 

noticed  it,  too,"  she  whispered.  "  It  is  very  curi- 
ous. Quite  little  things,  too.  Do  you  remember 
old  Lady  Tremayne  insisting  that  he  had  negro 
blood  in  his  veins,  and  then  just  a  few  days  later 
she " 

"  I  remember.  Oh,  I  could  tell  you  heaps  of 
things  like  that.  And  yet  I  have  never  been  able 
to  feel  certain  he  was  really  to  blame.  It  is  simply 
curious." 

She  gave  a  little  shiver.  "  Do  you  know  he 
frightens  me  ?  And  yet  I  don't  know  why." 

I  nodded.  "  I  knew  the  feeling.  The  more  you 
know  him,  the  less  you  know  him.  At  first  you 
imagine  he  has  a  transparent  nature.  And  then  you 
are  not  sure.  Then  you  are  sure  he  has  not.  Finally 
you  can't  believe  anything  too  bad  to  be  true  of 
him." 

Mabel  drew  a  long  breath.  "  For  some  months," 
she  said,  "  I  thought  he  was  charming.  I  even 

thought  I "  She  stopped  suddenly,  and  her 

cheeks  reddened. 

"  He  is  not  a  man  of  whom  I  would  care  to 
make  an  enemy,"  said  I.  "  Not  that  I  am  afraid 
of  him."  , 

"Isn't  it  turning  cold?"  asked  Mabel.  She 
shivered  again  perceptibly.  I  rose  and  shut  the 
window. 

[20] 


MY    BROTHER'S    MARRIAGE 

"  However,"  I  continued,  as  I  turned  towards 
her,  "  I  am  not  very  likely  to  be  his  enemy,  so  his 
little  idiosyncrasies  don't  interest  me  much." 

"  And  I,"  remarked  Mabel  more  cheerfully, 
"  shall  be  married  before  he  is  back  in  England. 
Let  us  talk  of  something  else." 


[21] 


CHAPTER  II 

A   TANGLED   WEB 

OWING  to  my  absence  from  town  on  a 
cricketing  tour,  I  saw  nothing  of  my 
brother  and  his  bride  till  some  months 
after  their  wedding.  The  few  letters  I  received 
from  him  betrayed  an  ecstasy  which  is  only  pardon- 
able in  the  recently  married.  I  was  glad  he  was 
happy,  for  with  all  his  faults  I  am  fond  of  him. 
The  law  of  primogeniture  had  given  him  the  bulk 
of  the  family  property,  but,  to  make  up  for  this,  he 
had  always  acted  towards  me  with  more  than 
brotherly  generosity.  He  was  an  earnest  worker, 
reveling  in  detail,  with  the  capacity  for  taking  infi- 
nite pains  which,  certainly  in  his  case,  was  not  allied 
to  genius.  In  the  House  of  Commons  his  position 
had  been  won  by  sheer  industry.  He  was  listened 
to  with  respect  rather  than  with  interest.  As  a 
debater  he  did  not  shine,  though  he  had  been  known 
to  overwhelm  even  redoubtable  opponents  by  the 
sheer  weight  of  facts,  uttered  without  eloquence, 
but  clearly  arranged  and  carefully  marshaled.  I 
knew  he  regarded  me  as  a  mere  trifler,  which,  to 

[23] 


THE   TRIFLER 

tell  the  truth,  I  was.  His  endeavors  to  put  me  to 
some  profitable  work  were  many  and  fruitless.  In 
my  boyhood  I  had  desired  to  enter  the  army,  but 
he  had  opposed  my  wish  with  his  characteristic  per- 
sistence. Our  father  and  mother  had  died  when  I 
was  still  in  long  frocks,  and  his  fifteen  years' 
seniority  made  his  veto  a  decisive  one.  His  reason 
was  that  the  military  career  was  a  non-productive 
one,  that  there  were  temptations  to  extravagance, 
which,  from  his  knowledge  of  my  character,  he 
judged  I  should  not  be  able  to  resist.  I  dare  say 
he  was  right,  and,  in  any  case,  I  did  not  greatly 
care. 

On  leaving  Harrow  I  went  to  Oxford,  and  at 
the  time  of  my  brother's  marriage  had  wasted 
two  or  three  years  "  about  town."  When  my 
brother  entered  the  Cabinet  he  offered  to  make  me 
his  secretary.  Under  the  influence  of  his  precept 
and  example,  he  hoped  in  time  I  should  exhibit  the 
qualities  of  steady  industry  in  which  he  himself 
excelled.  I  excused  myself  not  very  graciously. 
With  the  allowance  my  brother  made  me  I  had 
about  eight  hundred  a  year,  a  dangerous  sum  for  a 
man  of  my  indolent  proclivities,  and  I  was  quite 
determined  to  leave  "  steady  industry  "  to  those 
whose  motive  force  was  a  desire  for  bread.  My 
brother  was,  I  am  sure,  genuinely  attached  to  me, 
[24] 


A    TANGLED    WEB 

but,  as  might  be  expected,  there  were  times  when 
our  relations  were  strained. 

I  could  have  wished  that  he  did  not  take  so  much 
interest  in  me.  He  had  a  pet  belief  that  the  capac- 
ity for  steady  application  was.  synonymous  with 
brain-power.  As  a  direct  consequence,  he  imagined 
that  I  was  mentally  deficient.  It  pleased  him  to 
press  on  me  the  lessons  of  his  experience,  gained 
not  merely  in  the  highways  of  life,  but  in  such  un- 
important by-paths  as  Tattersall's  or  Newmarket. 
If  he  heard  I  contemplated  buying  a  horse,  he 
would  send  me  urgent  messages  to  do  nothing  till 
he  could  be  present  to  assist  me.  It  was  his  fixed 
belief  that  he  alone  could  save  me  from  being 
swindled  right  and  left.  Of  course  I  was  many 
years  younger,  but  I  do  believe  that  at  twelve  I 
was  a  better  judge  of  horseflesh  than  Gerald  at 
forty. 

This  craze  of  his — to  regard  me  as  an  easy 
prey  for  sharpers,  and  to  assume  towards  me  an 
attitude  more  paternal  than  brotherly — was  one  of 
the  reasons  that  reconciled  me  to  his  marriage.  As 
a  married  man  he  would  have  interests  which  might 
be  expected  to  distract  his  attention  from  an  un- 
worthy younger  brother.  I  confess,  too,  I  half 
expected  that  Mabel  would  endeavor  to  convince 
him  that  I  had  my  share  of  mental  acumen,  if  only 
[25] 


THE   TRIFLER 

from  gratitude  for  my  part  in  finding  her  a 
husband. 

When  I  got  back  to  town  I  found  awaiting  me 
one  of  those  ornate  letter  cards  which  notify  the 
days  on  which  a  bride  is  at  home  to  her  friends. 
My  first  free  afternoon  happening  to  coincide  with 
one  of  these  days,  I  turned  my  steps  in  the  direction 
of  my  brother's  house.  As  I  walked  down  Brook 
Street  I  saw  someone  wave  a  parasol  violently  from 
the  window  of  a  brougham,  and  I  heard  a  female 
voice  calling  on  the  coachman  to  stop.  On  rec- 
ognizing Mabel's  mother  as  the  owner  of  the 
parasol,  I  crossed  the  road  to  speak  to  her. 

"  You're  back,  are  you  ?  "  the  old  lady  cried  as 
I  approached.  "  What  a  stranger  you  are  1  Have 
you  seen  Mabel  yet?  " 

"  I  am  just  on  my  way,"  I  replied. 

"  It's  no  good  going  to-day,"  she  responded. 
"  I've  just  come  from  her.  She  says  she's 
ill." 

"111?" 

"  Nothing  at  all,  or  only  a  headache.  Probably 
eaten  something  that  doesn't  agree  with  her." 

"  Oh,  I  am  sorry." 

"  Nothing  to  be  sorry  about.  Be  sorry  for  me. 
She  was  as  cross  as  two  sticks.  She  said  I  annoyed 
her.  Nice  way  to  talk  to  a  mother."  Mrs. 
[26] 


A    TANGLED    WEB 

Fielders  smiled  cheerfully  from  the  carriage  win- 
dow. Evidently  the  affront  had  not  pierced 
deeply. 

"  This  is  one  of  her  reception  days,  isn't  it?  " 
Mrs.  Fielders  nodded.     "  Very  silly  of  Mabel. 
Quite  well,  really.     Hundreds  being  turned  from 
the  door.     Not  that  they  mind.     Probably  very 
glad." 

"  I  had  better  call,"  I  said.     "  Perhaps  Gerald 


Is  in." 


"  Don't  think  so.  At  the  House,  I  expect. 
Good-by.  Come  and  see  me  some  day."  And 
she  drove  off,  the  shrewdest  and  most  good-natured 
of  old  ladies. 

When  I  reached  my  brother's  house  the  footman 
received  me  with  a  cordial  smile.  I  am  inclined 
to  think  my  prowess  on  the  cricketing  field  com- 
mends me  to  his  class.  He  told  me  that  my 
brother  was  out  and  Lady  Trewint  was  ill,  but  he 

would  take  up  my  name,  in  case So  he  took 

up  my  name,  and  came  back  to  say  her  ladyship 
was  far  too  ill  to  see  me,  but  that  I  was  to  come  in 
and  have  some  tea. 

"  Oh,  no,  thanks  1 "  I  said;  and  nodding  to  the 

man,  I  made  my  way  into  the  road.     I  had  not 

reached  the  corner  of  the  square  when  the  shrill 

"  Hi  1  hi  1 "  of  a  small  errand-boy  made  me  aware 

[27] 


THE   TRIFLER 

that  the  powdered  footman  was  pursuing  me.     I 
turned  and  waited  his  approach. 

"  Her  ladyship  will  be  glad  to  see  you,  please, 
sir,"  he  said,  trying  not  to  pant. 

"  I'll  go  back."  So  I  turned  back,  but  was 
met  at  the  front  door  by  Mabel's  maid. 

"  Her  ladyship  is  afraid  that,  after  all,  she  is 
too  unwell  to  see  you,  sir.  But  she  hopes  you  will 
have  some  tea." 

"  Oh,  bother  I  "  I  responded,  annoyed  at  these 
sudden  changes  on  Mabel's  part. 

"  It  won't  take  a  minute  to  get  it,  sir,"  said  the 
maid  so  pleadingly  that  I  gave  in. 

I  went  into  the  smoking  room  and  helped  myself 
to  one  of  my  brother's  cigars.  Although  he  in- 
sists on  choosing  mine  for  me,  I  have  noticed  he 
himself  smokes  a  different  brand. 

With  the  tea  was  brought  a  message  that  Mabel 
would  make  a  great  effort  to  see  me.  I  settled 
down  for  a  quiet  read,  for,  knowing  Mabel,  I 
guessed  the  "  effort "  meant  putting  on  a  becom- 
ing dress.  Half  an  hour  elapsed  before  I  received 
the  expected  summons  to  repair  to  her  boudoir. 
When  I  entered  she  was  stretched  on  a  couch  in 
a  picturesque  attitude,  with  a  look  of  profound 
melancholy  on  her  face.  She  put  out  her  hand 
languidly. 

£28! 


A    TANGLED    WEB 

"  I  am  very  ill,"  she  said  plaintively.  "  So 
very,  very  ill.  On  the  whole,  I  think  I  should  like 
to  die." 

"  Is  it  so  bad?  "  I  asked  sympathetically.  "  But 
to  tell  the  truth,  I  have  never  seen  you  look  better." 

"  Really?  "  she  asked,  not  altogether  displeased. 
"  I  assure  you  I  feel  perfectly  worn  out." 

"  You  look  charming,  nevertheless." 

I  know  few  so  susceptible  to  compliments  as 
Mabel.  She  brightened  up  at  once.  Raising  her- 
self on  her  elbow,  she  screwed  her  head  round  in 
the  direction  of  the  door.  "  Is  it  shut?  " 

"  Yes." 

She  sank  back  on  her  cushions  and  put  a  lace 
handkerchief  to  her  eyes.  "  Oh,  Fred,"  she 
wailed,  "  I  am  most  miserable." 

"  Bless  me,  has  Gerald " 

"  Gerald  is  a  dear,"  she  responded  severely. 

"  Oh,  I  thought  that,  perhaps " 

"  Certainly  not.  Oh,  I  wish  all  men  were  as 
kind  as  Gerald.  But  they  are  not.  Some  men 
are — brutes." 

I  waited  for  an  explanation. 

"  Nothing  will  induce  me  to  tell  you,"  she  said 
at  length. 

"To  tell  me  what?" 

'*  What  has  upset  me  so  terribly." 
[29] 


THE   TRIFLER 

"  Your  mother  thinks  that  you  have  been  eating 
something  that " 

She  interrupted  me  with  a  little  shocked  cry  of 
protest. 

"  Mamma  always  says  these  horrid  things.  Oh, 
no,  it's  much  worse  than  that." 

"  A  mental  worry?  "  I  suggested. 

She  assented.  "  And  I  don't  know  what  on 
earth  I  shall  do.  What  will  Gerald  think? 
And  everybody  will  laugh  and  say  ill-natured 
things.  I  shan't  dare  to  show  my  face.  Oh,  it  is 
wicked,  wicked  I  " 

I  drew  my  chair  in  closer.  "  Once  you 
promised  to  be  my  sister.  And  when  you  are  in 
trouble,  should  you  not  confide  in  your  brother?  " 

She  looked  at  me  doubtfully.  "  Oh,  no,  I 
simply  can't  tell  you,"  she  said  at  length.  '  You 
might  tell  Gerald." 

"  Certainly  not,"  I  replied  firmly.  "  He  is  the 
last  person  in  the  world  I  should  tell." 

"  Oh,  no,  I  can't  tell  you."  At  the  same  time, 
however,  she  fumbled  beneath  her  cushions  and 
drew  forth  a  pretty  little  booklet  in  a  white  parch- 
ment cover,  ornamented  with  blue  ribbons. 

"  What  is  that?  "  I  asked  curiously. 

She  thrust  it  back  among  the  cushions.      '  You 
didn't  see?     Oh,  I  hope  you  didn't  see." 
[30] 


A    TANGLED    WEB 

"  I  saw  nothing." 

She  drew  forth  the  book  again  very  slowly. 
"  Promise  me  you  won't  look  inside." 

"  Very  well." 

She  handed  it  to  me,  and  then  buried  her  face 
among  the  cushions.  "Isn't  it  awful?"  she 
moaned. 

I  took  the  little  book  in  my  hands,  an-d  fixed  my 
eye-glass.  On  the  white  cover,  in  old  English 
letters,  printed  in  gold,  were  the  words,  "  The 
Love  Letters  of  Miss  Mabel  Fielders,  now  Lady 
Trewint,"  and  underneath,  in  smaller  characters, 
"  For  private  circulation  only." 

"  Whatever  does  this  mean?  " 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  miserable !  "  came  in  muffled  ac- 
cents from  the  cushions. 

The  thought  in  my  mind  was  that  Gerald,  from 
imbecile  admiration  of  his  wife's  literary  style,  had 
printed  her  letters  to  him,  and  was  about  to  circu- 
late them  amongst  his  friends.  But  this  seemed 
too  absurd  to  be  possible. 

"  Did  Gerald  do  this?  "  I  asked. 

"  Gerald !  "  She  raised  her  head  and  looked 
at  me  with  eyes  round  with  amazement.  "  As  if 

Gerald "  Then  the  tension  relaxed,  and  she 

dropped  back  upon  her  cushions.     "  Gerald  is  quite 

right,"  she  remarked  pityingly,  "  you  are  stupid." 

[30 


THE    TRIFLER 

"  Perhaps  I  am,"  I  replied,  rather  annoyed. 
"  But  you  leave  too  much  to  my  intelligence.  I 
assume  this  pamphlet  contains  your  letters  to 
Gerald?" 

"  No,  it  doesn't,"  she  answered  tartly. 

"  It  contains  your  letters,  however?  " 

She  did  not  answer,  but  there  was  no  denial  on 
her  face. 

"  Love  letters  of  yours,  but  not  to — Gerald?  " 

"Oh, -dear;  oh,  dear!" 

"  May  I  read  them?" 

"  Oh,  no ;  on  no  account."  Her  face  flamed 
suddenly  to  the  color  of  a  brilliant  sunset. 

"  But  why  have  they  been  printed?  " 

She  began  to  cry.  "  To  make  me  miserable," 
she  sobbed.  "  To  make  Gerald  angry.  Oh,  it's 
a  shame,  a  shame!  " 

"  To  whom  were  they  written  ?  " 

"  I  don't  want  to  say." 

"  You  must."  I  think  my  voice  had  suddenly 
become  grave.  "  You  must  tell  me  everything. 
You  have  written  letters  you  are  ashamed  of,  and 
someone  has  got  hold  of  them  and  printed  them. 
Is  it  blackmail,  or  revenge,  or  what?  " 

"  Revenge,"  she  replied  in  a  whisper. 

"  But — but "  A  sudden  fear  possessed  me. 

No  one  likes  the  breath  of  scandal  to  blow  near  his 
[32] 


home.  "  Surely,  Mabel,"  I  said,  "  there  is  nothing 
in  these  letters  you  are  really  afraid  Gerald  should 
see?  Gerald  is  not  romantic.  He  will  hardly 
expect  you  never  to  have  had  little,  harmless  love 
passages  before  you  met  him.  That  would  be 
absurd.  Tell  me,  there  is  nothing  in  these  letters 
that  would  really  injure  you  in  Gerald's  eyes." 

"Yes,  yes;  there  is,"  she  cried.  "There  are 
things  I  would  rather  die  than  let  him  see.  I 
could  never  look  him  in  the  face  again  if  he  read 
these  letters." 

I  pushed  back  my  chair  and  rose.  "  You 
mean,"  I  said  coldly,  "  that  these  letters  com- 
promise you?  " 

She  looked  up  tragically.  "  If  by  that  you 
mean  that  they  will  make  me  seem  wholly  absurd 
and  ridiculous,  and  make  everybody  scoff  and 
Gerald  angry;  yes,  they  compromise  me." 

I  breathed  again.  "That  is  all?  They  will 
only  make  you  ridiculous.  Ridiculous!  Who 
cares  for  ridicule?  " 

"  I  do,"  said  Mabel.  "  I  can't  bear  to  be  made 
a  laughing  stock  for  the  world's  amusement.  You 
must  help  me,  Fred.  I  am  sorry  I  said  you  were 
not  clever,  for  you  are,  you  know.  I  am  sure  you 
will  be  able  to  think  of  something.  Only  you 
mustn't  waste  time.  A  copy  of  this  book  may  be 

[33] 


THE   TRIFLER 

sent  to  Gerald  any  day.  And  then  it  will  be  too 
late  to  do  anything." 

"  What  makes  you  think  that?  " 

"  The  book  says  so.  Read  the  preface — only 
the  preface.  It  is  on  the  first  page." 

So  I  opened  the  book,  and  under  the  heading  of 
11  Introductory  Note,"  read  as  follows: 

"  The  following  letters  are  given  to  the  world 
from  a  single-hearted  desire  to  clear  the  fame  of  an 
unhappy  lady.  Many  harsh  epithets  have  been 
used  to  describe  her  conduct,  but  her  letters  will 
show  that  she  has  been  the  victim  of  a  compulsion 
alike  persistent  and  cruel,  which,  acting  on  her 
gentle  nature,  has  forced  her  to  sacrifice  her  own 
and  another's  happiness.  The  letters  are  printed 
without  the  knowledge  or  consent  of  the  writer  or 
of  the  recipient.  By  a  curious  conjunction  of  cir- 
cumstances they  fell  into  the  hands  of  a  third 
party,  who  feels  it  to  be  an  imperative  duty  to  clear 
the  character  of  one  for  whom  nothing  but  the 
deepest  pity  can  be  felt  from  the  accusations  of 
fickleness  and  inconstancy  to  which  she  has  been 
exposed.  Copies  will  be  circulated  only  among  the 
friends  and  acquaintances  of  the  unfortunate  lady, 
and  it  is  hoped  thereby  to  reinstate  her  in  their 
good  opinion." 

[34] 


A    TANGLED    WEB 

I  read  this  through  twice,  and  then  a  third  time. 

"  I  am  still  in  the  dark,"  I  said.  "  Are  you  the 
'  unhappy  lady  '  ?  And  who  is  the  person  desir- 
ous of  reinstating  you  in  your  friends*  good 
opinion?  " 

Mabel  sat  up  suddenly,  and  her  eyes  sparkled 
with  anger.  "  It  is  all  a  pretense  to  say  they  were 
printed  without  the  consent  of  the  recipient.  How 
could  they  fall  into  the  hands  of  a  third  party? 
He  has  done  it  himself.  I  am  absolutely  sure  of 
it.  It  is  just  the  thing  he  would  do,  the  nasty, 
malicious " 

I  interrupted  her.  "  I  think  I  begin  to  under- 
stand, but  tell  me  about  it  right  from  the  beginning. 
You  needn't  mention  names,  you  know,  if  you  don't 
want  to." 

She  flung  a  cushion  rather  violently  from  her. 
11  Oh,"  she  cried,  "  I  think  I  could  almost  kill  him 
if  I  met  him." 

"  Tell  me  all  about  it" 

She  sat  fidgeting  for  some  moments,  and  then 
she  jumped  off  the  sofa  and  commenced  to  walk 
up  and  down  the  room.  "  He  pretended  to  be  in 
love  with  me,"  she  began,  with  an  angry  sob. 
"  And  I — I  really  did  like  him.  He  was  so  good- 
looking  and  nice,  and  his  eyes  were  quite  lovely, 
and  I  felt  quite  sure  I  was  in  love  with  him.  He 

[353 


THE    TRIFLER 

wanted  me  to  marry  him,  but  mother  could  not 
bear  him." 

11  Go  on." 

"  Well,  at  the  time  I  felt  I  could  never  love  any- 
one else,  and  so  we  got  engaged  secretly.  I  never 
told  mother.  It  was  not  a  real  engagement,  you 
know.  Once  he  asked  me  if  I  loved  him,  and  I 
said — I  said " 

"  Quite  so." 

"  Well,  after  that  he  took  it  for  granted  we  were 
engaged.  And  I  wrote  him  one  or  two  stupid  let- 
ters. But  after  a  month  or  so  I  began  to  feel  I 
didn't  like  him.  Somehow  or  other,  he — fright- 
ened me.  I  couldn't  understand  him.  He  used  to 
say  such  strange  things,  and  sometimes  there  was  a 
curious  gleam  in  his  eyes.  At  last  I  felt  that,  in- 
stead of  loving  him,  I  simply  hated  and  loathed 
him  so  much  that  I  shuddered  when  he  came  near. 
But  I  didn't  care  to  tell  him,  and  so  I  let  things 
drift  on,  though  I  had  quite  made  up  my  mind 
never  to  marry  him." 

"Well?"  ' 

"  Then,  luckily,  he  had  to  go  abroad,  and  very 
soon  after  I  met  Gerald.  It  was  at  Henley,  you 
remember.  What  a  lovely  Henley  that  was  1  And 
you  know  " — she  blushed — "  Gerald  fell  in  love 
with  me  very  quickly." 

[36] 


A    TANGLED    WEB 

"  That  was  only  to  be  expected,"  I  observed, 
"  but  please  go  on." 

"  Of  course,  I  ought  to  have  told  Gerald  I  was 
in  a  way  engaged  to — to  the  other  one.  But  I 
didn't."  She  looked  at  me  appealingly.  "  I  am  a 
terrible  coward.  But  I  wrote.  Oh,  yes,  I  wrote  as 
soon  as  your  brother  showed  that — that  he  cared 
for  me." 

"  Oh,  you  wrote  to  the  other  man?  " 

"  Yes.  He  was  far  away — in  Australia,  as  a 
matter  of  fact — and  was  not  to  be  back  for  some 
months.  It  was  rather  difficult  to  write — so  awk- 
ward to  explain  I " 

"  It  must  have  been." 

"  However,  I  never  dreamt  anyone  but  he  would 
see  my  letter.  I  never  thought  he  would  print  it 
in  a  book !  If  I  had  only  thought  that " 

"  You  would  have  written  quite  differently?  " 

"  Quite,"  she  replied  naively.  "  You  see  what  a 
difficult  position  I  was  in.  I  didn't  want  him  to 
think  I  was  jilting  him.  I  thought  it  would  be  ever 
so  much  better  to  pretend  that " 

14  That  you  were  being  forced  into  the  mar- 
riage? " 

14  Well,  yes.  How  clever  of  you  to  guess  that ! 
I  thought  it  would  be  ever  so  much  nicer  for  him. 
It  would  hurt  his  pride  to  feel  that  I  had  thrown 

[37] 


THE   TRIFLER 

him  over.    Oh,"  she  cried  in  sudden  gust,  "  I  did 
it  all  for  the  best!" 

«  And  so " 

"  And  so  I  pretended  that  mamma — poor,  dear 
mamma — was  forcing  me  to  marry  your  brother, 
and  I  pretended  I  hated  Gerald,  and  still  loved — 
the  other  man.  It  was  really  very  difficult,  but  I 
felt  sure  it  was  for  the  best." 

"  And  all  your  letters  are  in  this  book?  " 

"  Every  one,"  she  sighed.  "  They  read  so 
dreadfully  in  print.  I  had  no  idea  I  had  put  it  so 
strongly.  Whatever  would  Gerald  think,  espe- 
cially as  I  rather  pressed  on  our  marriage.  I  had 
to,  you  know.  It  would  have  been  horrid  if  the 
other  man  had  come  rushing  home  before  we  had 
got  married." 

41  It  would  have  been  inconvenient." 

"  Luckily,  Gerald  was  as  anxious  as  I  was  to 
get  the  wedding  over.  So  that  turned  out  all  right. 
Oh,  dear  " — she  drew  in  a  deep  breath,  "  you  have 
no  idea  how  worried  I  have  been." 

"  I  can  imagine,"  I  said,  "  that  your  worries  are 
not  over." 

She  gave  me  a  frightened  look.  "  Oh,  you  must 
put  a  stop  to  these  books  being  circulated.  You 
must  get  hold  of  them  and  burn  them.  You  must 

get  back  the  original  letters.    You  must " 

t38] 


A    TANGLED    WEB 

"  More  easily  said  than  done." 

"Oh,  Fred,  dear,  you  will  do  this  for  me?" 
The  tears  were  in  her  eyes,  and  she  spoke  so  plead- 
ingly that  I  agreed  to  do  my  best. 

"  All  the  same,"  I  said  judicially,  "  the  best 
course  will  be  to  tell  Gerald  all  about  it." 

"  Oh,  no."  She  shook  her  head  decisively. 
"  You  see,  Gerald  is  so  serious-minded.  Of  course, 
I  quite  see  I  may  have  to  tell  him ;  but,  oh,  I  want 
you  to  arrange  things  so  that  it  will  not  be  neces- 
sary. I  am  sure  you  can.  I  have  such  confidence  in 
you." 

"  Have  you,  indeed  ?  "  I  observed  rather  grimly. 
It  is  pleasant  to  excite  confidence,  but  it  has  its 
drawbacks.  "  You  haven't  mentioned  the  man's 
name,  but  I  have  guessed  it." 

She  turned  towards  me  excitedly.  "  Tell  me 
what  you  think  of  him  ?  Hasn't  he  acted  in  a  low, 
disgraceful  manner?  " 

"  He  has  certainly  not  acted  like  a  gentleman." 
In  my  heart  I  was  full  of  indignation  towards 
Trefusis.  "  Of  course  we  have  no  proof  that 
the  letters  were  not  printed  as  stated  in  the 
preface." 

"  Nonsense !  "  she  cried.  "  It  is  just  his  deceit- 
ful way  of  injuring  me  without  personal  responsi- 
bility." 

[39] 


THE   TRIFLER 

"  I  agree,"  I  replied  thoughtfully.  "  But  it  is 
rather  ingenious.  Has  he  written  or  spoken  to  you 
since  your  marriage  ?  " 

"  Not  a  single  word.  I  have  not  even  seen 
him." 

I  rose.  "  Well,  Mabel,  I  must  think  it  over.  It 
is  a  jolly  awkward  mix-up.  At  the  same  time,  I 
don't  believe  Trefusis  will  send  these  books  round 
to  your  friends.  The  pretext  that  they  were  sent 
out  by  a  third  party  is  rather  weak,  and  he  must 
realize  that  people  would  not  believe  it." 

"  Would  he  mind  whether  they  believed  it  or 
not?" 

"  I  think  so.  It  would  be  considered  a  dirty 
trick,  and  he  would  get  cut  by  all  decent  people. 
Very  likely  the  committee  of  his  club  would  give 
him  a  hint  to  clear  out.  Altogether,  he  would 
ultimately  be  the  loser.  Now,  Trefusis  is  always 
careful  of  his  own  skin,  I've  noticed." 

"  Then  you  think " 

"  I  feel  sure  his  motive  is  merely  to  worry  and 
distress  you.  I  don't  believe  he  will  let  Gerald  see 
these  letters — not  at  present,  at  any  rate.  That 
would  bring  things  to  an  issue,  and  I  am  certain 
that  is  not  what  he  wants." 

"  If  Gerald  does  not  see  them,  I  don't  care  a  bit. 
Oh,"  she  went  on,  clasping  her  hands,  "  just  think 
[40] 


A    TANGLED    WEB 

of  Gerald  reading  all  my  rubbish  about  not  loving 
him,  and  being  forced  to  marry  him  against  my 
will,  and  all  that.  What  would  he  think  of 
me?" 

"  The  whole  business  is  really  very  unpleasant. 
The  fear  of  disclosure  will  always  be  hanging  over 
your  head,  and  you  will  feel  that  you  are  at  this 
man's  mercy.  I  really  do  advise  you  to  tell 
Gerald." 

"I  can't;  I  won't." 

I  walked  about  the  room  rather  irritably.  "  I 
hate  the  idea  of  my  brother's  wife  being  in  the 
power  of  another  man,  especially  of  a  man  like  Tre- 
fusis." 

"  Help  me  to  get  out  of  his  power." 

'  Yes,  yes;  I  am  going  to  try,  of  course.  But 
really,  Mabel,  I  cannot  help  feeling  that  your  con- 
duct  " 

**  Oh,"  she  cried  plaintively,  "  now  you  are 
going  to  scold  me.  I  know  I  deserve  it;  still,  I 

have  been  terribly  punished,  and — and "  She 

produced  her  handkerchief. 

u  Well,  don't  cry.  And  now  I  must  go.  Good- 
by,  Mabel." 

She  took  my  hand.  "  Thank  you  so  very,  very 
much.  And  oh,  Fred,  on  no  account  fight  or  hit 
him.  That  will  mean  a  scandal,  and  the  whole 
[41] 


THE   TRIFLER 

thing  will  come  out.  Don't  rely  on  brute  force, 
Fred." 

"  I  must  do  what  I  can,"  I  returned,  much  out 
of  humor.  "  Good-by,  again." 

"  Good-by,  dear  Fred." 


[42] 


CHAPTER  III 

MORE    WORRY 

I  LEFT  the  house  with  a  feeling  of  vague  dis- 
comfort.   I  should  have  to  see  Trefusis,  de- 
mand the  letters,  make  a  scene,  or  do  some- 
thing equally  alien  to  my  easy-going  nature.    I  was 
annoyed  with  Mabel  for  acting  so  foolishly,  but  in 
blaming  her,  I  realized  I  was  only  condemning  a 
feminine  characteristic ;  for  women  of  all  ages  and 
at  all  times  have  endeavored,  probably  from  a 
natural  instinct  of  self-preservation,  to  circumvent 
danger  by  gentle  fibbing. 

On  leaving  my  brother's  house  I  strolled  leisurely 
in  the  direction  of  my  club.  Just  as  I  had  agreed 
with  a  friend  to  play  a  "  hundred  up,"  a  waiter 
came  to  tell  me  I  was  wanted  at  the  telephone.  I 
went  to  the  instrument  to  discover  my  brother  at 
the  other  end. 

"  Is  that  you,  Fred?  "  said  he. 

"  Yes.  How  are  you  ?  Called  on  you  this  after- 
noon, but " 

"  Very  busy.    Bill  in  Committee.    Most  inter- 
esting discussion.    By  the  way,  how  is  Mabel  ?  " 
[43] 


THE   TRIFLER 

"  Oh,  much  better." 

"  Fred,  Fred,  are  you  there  ?  I  want  you  to 

No,  we  are  not  finished 1  want  you  to  get  in  a 

cab  and  come  here." 

"  Where  is  '  here  '  ?  " 

"  The  House." 

"  Oh,  oh,  yes." 

"  John  Telby  has  just  been  to  see  me.  He 
wants " 

"  Who  the  deuce  is  John  Telby?  " 

"  Really,  Fred,  you  are  shockingly  ignorant.  He 
owns  the  engineering  works  at  Trewint.  You  must 
know." 

"  Oh,  yes;  of  course." 

"  No,  we  are  not  finished He  is  standing  for 

Trewint,  you  know.  Renton  has  accepted  a  judge- 
ship.  I  want  to  introduce  you  to  him." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  want  to  know  him." 

"  Really,  Fred,  you  are  a  most Do  go  away 

and  don't  worry aggravating.  He  wants  me 

to  go  down  and  make  a  speech  in  his  favor,  but  it's 
absurd.  I  simply  can't." 

"  Oh,  why  not?  I  thought  you  rather  liked 
making  speeches." 

"  I  can't  hear  what  you  say.  I  am  up  to  my 
eyes  in  work,  and,  besides,  it  isn't  quite  the  thing 
for  ministers  to  take  part  in  by-elections.  But  I 
[44] 


MORE    WORRY 

agree  with  him  it  is  desirable  the  family  influence 
should  be  used  in  his  favor.  So  you  must  go  down 
and  take  the  chair  at  some  of  his  meetings." 

"  Oh,  hang  it  all!" 

"  Yes,  Fred ;  I  must  insist.  I  know  you  are  unfit, 
and  will  probably  make  a  perfect  exhibition  of 
yourself,  but " 

"  Really,  Gerald !  "  I  protested. 

"  I  say — are  you  there,  Fred  ?  On  the  whole, 
perhaps  you  had  better  not  come  to  the  House.  I 
shall  be  too  occupied  to  talk  to  you  even  if  you  do 
come." 

"  In  these  circumstances,  I  won't  come." 

11  Look  here,  Fred,  Telby  and  his  daughter,  and 
his  son,  too,  I  think,  are  dining  with  us  to-morrow. 
Turn  up,  will  you  ?  Dinner  at  eight.  Do  you  hear, 
Fred?" 

"  Yes.     I  hear,  but " 

"  Good-by."    And  then  the  bell  rang  off. 

I  left  the  telephone  decidedly  ruffled.  There 
seemed  to  be  a  general  conspiracy  against  my  inno- 
cent desire  for  a  peaceful  life.  I  dislike  politics;  I 
loathe  elections;  I  hate  being  brought  into  violent 
conflict  with  other  men.  The  thought  of  taking  the 
night  train  for  the  Continent  crossed  my  mind ;  but, 
of  course,  I  could  not  leave  Mabel  in  her  dilemma. 
And  if  I  stayed  in  town  I  knew  perfectly  well  I 
[45.] 


THE   TKIFLER 

should  be  at  Trewint  before  the  month  was  out,  en- 
deavoring, no  doubt  feebly,  to  preserve  order  at 
rowdy  meetings,  and  making  speeches  on  matters 
that  interested  me  not  the  least. 

Then  it  was  borne  on  me  that  if  I  was  to  be 
carted  off  to  Trewint  forthwith  as  a  shining  exem- 
plar of  the  family  greatness,  I  must  deal  at  once 
with  Mabel's  imbroglio.  However,  even  if  I  had 
to  make  haste,  there  was  still  time  for  a  "  hundred 
up."  I  returned  to  my  game  and  played  abomi- 
nably. 


CHAPTER  IV 

IN   OPEN   CONFLICT 

IT  is  no  good  shirking  an  unpleasant  task,  unless 
it  can  be  shirked  altogether.  And  as  it  was 
clearly  incumbent  upon  me  to  take  some  steps 
on  Mabel's  behalf,  no  object  could  be  served  by 
delay.  So,  late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day  I 
hailed  a  cab  and  told  the  man  to  drive  to  the 
Albany. 

I  had  not  formulated  in  my  mind  any  plan  of 
campaign,  but  what  I  wanted  to  achieve  was  clear 
enough.  I  wanted  to  prevent  Trefusis  from  scat- 
tering about  copies  of  my  sister-in-law's  letters,  and 
I  also  wanted  to  get  out  of  his  hands  the  originals. 
The  only  course  that  presented  itself  to  my  mind 
was  to  call  on  Trefusis  and  ask  him  to  hand  them 
over.  I  was  hardly  sanguine  enough  to  expect  that 
he  would  do  so,  but,  in  any  case,  he  would  have  to 
do  or  say  something;  and  on  his  act  or  word, 
whatever  it  might  be,  must  depend  my  future 
action. 

On  reaching  the  Albany  I  dismissed  the  cab,  and 

[471 


THE   TRIFLER 

made  my  way  slowly  to  Trefusis'  chambers.  Hav- 
ing pressed  the  electrical  bell  and  heard  the  answer- 
ing "  trill,"  I  felt  that  the  plunge  was  taken,  and 
that  there  was  nothing  else  to  do  but  await  devel- 
opments. 

After  a  short  interval  the  door  was  opened  by  a 
man-servant. 

41  Is  Mr.  Trefusis  in?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"When  will  he  be  back?" 

"  I  expect  him  every  moment,  sir." 

"  I'll  wait." 

The  man  held  the  door  wide  for  me  to  enter, 
and  I  crossed  the  threshold.  There  was  a  pleased 
smile  of  recognition  on  his  face,  and  so  much  cor- 
diality in  his  manner  that  I  fixed  my  eye-glass  and 
scrutinized  him  carefully. 

"  Think  I've  seen  you  before,"  I  observed. 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir;  certainly,  sir."  The  fellow  posi- 
tively beamed. 

"Where?" 

"  I  come  from  Trewint,  sir.  I  hope  Sir  Gerald 
and  her  ladyship  are  quite  well  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes."  I  looked  at  him  again.  "  Why, 
bless  me !  "  I  exclaimed,  with  sudden  recognition, 
"  you're  surely  old  Tarling's  son?  " 

"  Yes,  Master  Fred."   His  smile  was  full  drawn, 
[48] 


IN   OPEN    CONFLICT 

"  And  how  is  your  father?  " 

"  Dead,  sir;  these  two  years." 

"  Oh,  oh,  yes,  of  course.  I  remember  how  sorry 
I  was  to  hear  of  it.  Let  me  see,  weren't  you  a  great 
cricketer?" 

His  smile,  which  had  contracted  at  the  mention 
of  his  father,  expanded  again. 

"  Not  so  good  as  you  was,  Master  Fred.'* 

"  Oh,  nonsense  1 " 

"  I  don't  know  whether  you  remember  the  last 
time  we  played  together  for  the  town,  Master  Fred, 
about  three  years  ago  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course."  I  am  afraid  the  details  had 
rather  escaped  me,  but  they  were  evidently  fresh  in 
young  Tarling's  memory. 

"  You  and  me,"  he  went  on,  simply  bubbling 
over  with  delight  at  the  recollection,  "  had  forty- 
six  to  knock  up  to  win  the  match,  and  we  did  it  I  " 

41  Why,  so  we  did,"  I  echoed. 

'*  In  fifty-seven  minutes  1  " 

"  Dear  me,  that  was  rather " 

"  I  was  last  in,  and  you  says  to  me,  *  Play  cau- 
tious, and  perhaps  we  can  do  it ! '  And  I  played 
like  a  stone  wall,  while  you  banged  the  ball  about." 

11  Yes,  and  so  we  managed  it  between  us." 

"  We  did  that,  Master  Fred." 

He  had  ushered  me  into  a  sitting  room.  I  sat 
[49] 


THE   TRtFLER 

down  on  a  chair,  and  looked  at  him  thoughtfully. 
He  was  still  little  more  than  a  lad,  with  a  fresh, 
country  face,  and  with  a  countryman's  muscular 
frame.  It  occurred  to  me  suddenly  that  a  friend  in 
the  enemy's  camp  would  be  a  useful  ally.  But  the 
thought  was  a  distasteful  one.  A  gentleman,  ac- 
cording to  the  current  code  of  honor,  may  do  many 
disgraceful  things,  but  he  is  hardly  entitled  to  util- 
ize another  man's  servant  as  a  spy  upon  his  master. 
If  I  did  not  put  the  idea  entirely  away,  as  no  doubt 
I  should  have  done,  I  relegated  it  to  the  back  of 
my  mind  for  further  consideration. 

14  It  is  a  curious  coincidence,"  I  said  meditatively, 
"  that  you  should  be  in  Mr.  Trefusis'  service." 

The  young  fellow's  face  clouded.  "  I  have  only 
been  here  since  Mr.  Trefusis  came  back  from  Aus- 
tralia, and " 

I  saw  he  was  going  to  tell  me  of  some  of  his 
troubles  with  his  master,  and  I  tried  to  stop  him. 

"  Is  this  your  first  place?  "  I  asked. 

**  Oh,  no,  sir,"  he  answered  eagerly.  "  I  was 
for  a  year  with  Lord  Willingborough  as  under 
footman." 

"  Well,  Tarling,"  I  said,  "  I  hope  you  will  get 
on  well.  I  am  pleased  to  see  you  again."  I  glanced 
at  my  watch.  "  I  don't  think  I'll  wait  any  longer." 

"  I  hope,  sir,  you  won't  think  it  a  liberty,"  he 
[50] 


IN   OPEN    CONFLICT 

began,  with  some  embarrassment,  "  but  I  am  not 
very  comfortable  here,  and  if  you  was  to  hear  of 
anything " 

"  I'll  bear  you  in  mind."  I  got  up  rather  ab- 
ruptly. The  temptation  to  use  the  man  was  becom- 
ing irresistible.  He  was  a  decent  young  fellow, 
and  a  discreet  reference  to  the  facts,  coupled  per- 
haps with  an  offer  of  employment,  would  cause  him 
to  espouse  my  cause  with  enthusiasm.  What  a 
blessing  to  get  hold  of  the  letters  without  trouble 
or  anxiety !  Yet — yet — I  stood  and  looked  at  him 
doubtfully. 

"  You  don't  get  on  well  with  Mr.  Trefusis?  "  I 
said,  at  length. 

"I  don't  like  him,"  he  blurted  out,  "or  his 
ways.  There  are  lots  of  funny  things  go  on " 

"  Stop,  stop ! "  I  cried,  thoroughly  ashamed. 
What  "  shocking  form  "  to  go  to  a  man's  rooms 
and  listen  to  the  tittle-tattle  of  his  valet  I  After  all, 
even  though  I  was  dealing  with  a  man  whom  I  dis- 
liked and  distrusted,  there  was  surely  meanness  of 
which  I  must  not  be  guilty. 

I  was  going  towards  the  door  when  I  heard  the 
sound  of  a  key  in  the  lock.  "  I  think  I  hear  Mr, 
Trefusis,"  I  said,  and  returned  to  my  seat.  Tar- 
ling  left  the  room,  and  in  a  few  minutes  Trefusis 
came  in  breezy,  buoyant,  and  full  of  regrets. 


THE   TRIFLER 

"  So  awfully  sorry,  my  dear  chap !  If  I  had  only 
known  you  intended  to  call!  It's  very  kind  of 
you  to  come.  Why,  I  haven't  seen  you  for 
years." 

"  Not  for  some  little  time,"  I  responded  stiffly. 

"  You  know,"  he  went  on,  with  a  note  of  regret 
in  his  voice,  "  how  in  London  one  drifts  away  from 
one's  friends.  We  seem  to  have  got  into  different 
sets."  He  tossed  his  gloves  on  the  table,  and  sat 
down  on  the  arm  of  a  chair,  and  looked  at  me  with 
eyes  in  which  I  could  trace  no  shadow  of  embar- 
rassment. He  seemed  to  be  possessed  of  a  single- 
hearted  desire  to  make  me  feel  at  ease.  His  dark, 
handsome  face  expressed  nothing  but  pleasure ;  his 
manner  was  that  of  a  frank,  unspoiled  boy  in  the 
presence  of  a  comrade. 

"  No,"  I  said  slowly,  "  since  we  left  Oxford  we 
have  not  often  met.  Perhaps  we  have  not  much  in 
common." 

He  made  an  easy,  deprecating  movement. 

41  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  he  answered.  "  It  is  diffi- 
cult to  explain  why  we  have  seen  so  little  of  each 
other.  It  just  happened."  He  smiled  his  ready, 
happy,  good-natured  smile.  "  Anyhow,  it's  good 
of  you  to  look  me  up.  Look  here,  won't  you  have 
something?  Whisky,  tea,  anything?  " 

"  No,  thanks.    In  fact,  you  make  me  ashamed 


IN    OPEN    CONFLICT 

to  say  that  my  call  is  hardly  a  social  one.  I  came  on 
a  small  matter  of  business." 

"Business?"  His  face  assumed  an  expression 
of  courteous  interest.  "  I  wonder  what '  business  ' 
we  can  have  together.  Somehow  the  term  doesn't 
seem  applicable  in  connection  with  you." 

"Why?" 

"  Oh,  I  hardly  know,  except  that  I  thought  you 
regarded  all  business  as  far  too  unpleasant  to  con- 
cern yourself  with." 

"  I  am  afraid  this  particular  business  is  un- 
pleasant, but,  nevertheless,  I  must  concern  myself 
with  it." 

"  Strange,  indeed."  His  curiosity  did  not  seem 
excited ;  he  produced  his  cigarette  case  and  offered 
it  to  me.  I  declined;  he  selected  a  cigarette  and 
lit  it. 

"  Sometimes,"  I  said,  "  one  is  obliged  to  inter- 
vene in  matters  that  do  not  directly  concern  one's 
self.  What  I  have  come  to  see  you  about  is  a  case 
in  point.  I  can  hardly  imagine  myself  troubling 
you  on  my  own  account." 

"  No  trouble,  I  assure  you.  Quite  charmed  to 
be  of  any  service." 

I  wanted  to  tell  this  man  that  I  considered  he  was 
a  blackguard,  but  I  found  it  very  difficult. 

"  If  I  may  take  that  as  a  promise,  I  need  not 

[53] 


THE   TRIFLER 

detain  you  more  than  five  minutes,"  I  said.  '  You 
hold  some  letters  written  by  my  sister-in-law,  Lady 
Trewint.  I  want  them,  please." 

His  face  assumed  an  expression  of  concern. 
"  My  dear  fellow "  he  began. 

"There  are  also  some  printed  copies  of  these 
letters  in  your  possession,"  I  went  on.  "  These, 
too,  I  want." 

"  Printed  copies!  "  he  ejaculated.  "  Whatever 
can  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Pray  do  not  let  us  waste  time.  I  am  dining 
out  this  evening,  and  have  to  get  back  to  my  cham- 
bers to  dress." 

"  I,  too,  am  dining  out,  and  I  also  have  to  dress. 
But  I  am  afraid  I  must  trouble  you  for  some  ex- 
planation of  this  very  curious  demand." 

I  tapped  with  my  knuckles  on  the  table.  "  I 
want  the  letters  written  to  you  by  my  sister-in-law." 

"  So  you  said  just  now." 

"  And  the  prints  of  these  letters." 

"  You  repeat  yourself  again." 

"  Do  you  decline  to  give  them  up?  " 

He  rose  from  the  elbow  of  the  armchair  on 
which  he  had  been  sitting,  and,  sauntering  to  the 
fireplace,  knocked  off  the  ash  of  his  cigarettte  medi- 
tatively. Then  he  turned: 

"  Trewint,"  he  said,  "  I  do  not  want  to  take 
[54] 


IN    OPEN    CONFLICT 

offense  unnecessarily,  but  there  is  a  peremptoriness 
about  your  request  which  I  rather  resent.  At  the 
same  time  I  understand  that  you  are  here  as  the 
representative  of  a  lady,  for  whom — it  is  useless  to 
deny  it — I  have  a  very  warm  feeling.  That  in 
itself  is  sufficient  to  make  me  overlook  what  other- 
wise I  might  be  inclined  to  take  in  bad  part.  But 
I  cannot  understand  what  you  mean  when  you  talk 
about  printed  copies.  Tell  me  what  you  mean  ?  " 

"  What  I  mean,"  I  said  steadily,  "  is  that  the 
letters  my  sister-in-law  wrote  to  you  have  been 
printed.  A  copy  of  the  print  was  sent  to  her  with 
the  veiled  threat  to  send  copies  to  her  husband  and 
her  friends." 

A  shocked  exclamation  came  from  Trefusis.  "  I 
can't  believe  it !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  You  may  take  it  as  true,"  I  responded  coldly. 
My  belief  in  his  guilt  was  so  great  that  if  an  angel 
had  descended  from  heaven  to  assure  me  that  I 
was  mistaken,  I  should  have  discredited  the  celes- 
tial messenger. 

"  And  you  think  —  you  actually  think  — 
that  I " 

"  Yes,  I  do." 

"And  Mabel — does  Mabel "  His  voice 

broke.  "  I  am  sure  Mabel  does  not  think  that 
I " 

[55] 


THE   TRIFLER 

"  Yes,  she  does." 

"  It  is  utterly  monstrous;  wickedly,  shamefully 
untrue!  Am  I  the  man  to  do  an  act  of  that 
kind?" 

"  Well,  candidly,"  I  replied,  "  I  rather  think  you 
are." 

He  turned  on  me,  his  eyes  ablaze  with  anger. 
"  How  dare  you  come  here — to  my  own  rooms — 
and  insult  me  ?  "  His  hand  went  towards  the  bell. 

"  Why,"  said  I,  "  do  you  not  hand  me  the  let- 
ters?" 

He  drew  his  hand  back  from  the  bell.  "  Be- 
cause— of  course,  you  will  not  believe  me — I  have 
not  got  them." 

"  Where  are  they,  then?  " 

"  I  have  lost  them."  Anguish  seemed  to  choke 
his  utterance.  He  turned  and  leant  against  the 
mantelpiece,  his  face  resting  on  his  arms. 

I  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  incredulity 
repossessed  me. 

"  Surely,  that  is  pretty  thin,"  I  observed. 

My  words  seemed  to  sting  him.  He  drew  him- 
self up  and  faced  me.  "  Thin  or  not  thin,  it  is  the 
truth." 

"  Where  did  you  lose  them?  " 

"They  were  lost  on  my  return  journey  from 
Australia.  All  her  letters  I  carried  about  with  me 
[56] 


IN    OPEN    CONFLICT 

everywhere.  I — loved  her."  His  head  dropped 
on  his  breast;  his  attitude  was  that  of  a  broken- 
hearted man.  "  I  dare  say  you  know  we  were 
engaged  to  be  married,  and  then — and  then  she 
broke  off  our  engagement  by  letter.  I  hastened 
back  to  find  her — already  married."  He  covered 
his  face  with  his  hands. 

It  was  very  unpleasant.  Even  an  actor  can  move 
by  the  semblance  of  suffering.  I  declined  to  allow 
myself  to  believe  that  he  was  not  acting,  yet  a  little 
imp  of  doubt  was  beginning  to  torment  me. 

"  You  lost  them,  you  say?  "  I  tried  to  put  in- 
credulity into  my  voice. 

1  Yes,  I  lost  them.  They  were  in  my  dressing- 
bag.  It  was  stolen." 

"Indeed?" 

"  Oh,"  he  cried,  with  a  sudden  access  of  passion, 
"  of  course  you  don't  believe  me.  I  do  not  care 
whether  you  believe  me  or  not.  But  I  do  care  that 
Mabel  should  think  that  I  could  injure  her!  I 
would  die  for  her,  even  to-day,  even  at  this  mo- 
ment, if  I  could !  "  He  flung  out  his  arms.  "  And 
it  hurts — my  God,  it  hurts — that  she  should  think 
that  I  could  act  so  shamefully." 

"  What  possible  object  could  anyone  but  your- 
self have  in  printing  these  letters?"  I  asked 
weakly. 

C57] 


THE   TRIFLER 

"  What  object  could  I  have  ?  "  he  cried,  raising 
his  head  for  a  moment. 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders.  "  Revenge,  I  sup- 
pose." 

"  Revenge !  Revenge  on  Mabel — whom  I 
love !  "  He  let  his  face  drop  again  into  his  hands. 
For  some  moments  we  were  both  silent. 

"  Of  course,"  I  said,  speaking  with  great  de- 
liberation, "  if,  by  any  chance,  I  have  done  you  an 
injustice,  I  shall  do  my  utmost  to  repair  the 
injury." 

"  I  care  nothing  for  what  you  have  said  or 
done,"  he  answered  bitterly,  "  but  I  shall  not  rest 
until  I  have  proved  to  Mabel  that  I  am  not  the  cur 
she  thinks  me.  By  Heaven!  if  I  could  discover 
the  man  who  had  been  trying  to  blackmail 
her " 

"  Blackmail?  "  I  said  quickly.  "  That  is  how 
you  explain  it?  " 

He  regarded  me  with  weary  eyes.  "  It  is 
obvious,"  he  said,  "  that  the  letters  have  fallen  into 
the  hands  of  some  blackguard,  who,  seeing  they 
were  love-letters  addressed  to  a  man  who  is  not  her 
husband,  is  endeavoring  to  make  money  out  of 
them.  There  is  no  great  mystery  about  it." 

I  looked  at  him  steadily,  but  he  did  not  flinch. 
I  sighed,  and  turned  away. 
[58] 


IN    OPEN    CONFLICT 

"  I  wish  to  heaven  I  could  tell  whether  you  are 
lying  or  not.  But  I  confess  I  cannot." 

'  You  may  insult  me  as  much  as  you  like  to-day. 
I  am  too  much  upset  to  resist.  But  I  swear  that  if 
any  other  man  ever  speaks  to  me  as  you  have 
spoken,  I  will "  He  did  not  finish  his  sen- 
tence, but  sank  dejectedly  into  an  armchair. 

I  turned  toward  him  half  compassionately. 

"  What  shall  I  say  to  you,  Trefusis,  if  I  have 
made  a  mistake?  " 

The  softened  tone  in  my  voice  seemed  to  appeal 
to  him,  for  he  looked  up  wistfully. 

"  Do  you  believe  me  innocent?  " 

I  hesitated. 

"  You  do  not?  "  he  said  sadly.  "  And  neither 
will  Mabel.  It  is  hard,  hard." 

My  heart  was  touched;  I  was  about  to  put  all 
my  doubts  aside  and  assure  him  I  was  conscious  of 
having  deeply  wronged  him,  when  my  eyes  fell  on 
a  safe  that  stood  in  the  corner  of  the  room. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  convince  me  of  your  in- 
nocence?" I  asked,  for  a  sudden  thought  had 
flashed  across  my  mind. 

"  I  will  do  anything  in  my  power  to  do  so,"  he 
replied  earnestly. 

"  Then,"  said  I,  "  lend  me  your  keys;  and  let 
me  open  that  safe." 

[59] 


The  suggestion  took  him  by  surprise,  and  for  the 
first  time  in  the  course  of  our  interview  there  was 
something  in  his  manner  that  struck  me  as  incon- 
sistent with  his  protestations.  The  dejected  ex- 
pression vanished  from  his  face,  and  his  forehead 
was  furrowed  with  a  frown.  For  some  moments 
he  did  not  speak. 

"  I  have  not  the  keys,"  he  replied  at  length. 
"  They  are  in  my  strong  room  at  the  Safe  Deposit 
Company's." 

Inherently,  this  did  not  sound  very  probable. 
Like  many  men,  he  wore  a  keychain,  as  I  could  see. 

"  Lend  me  your  bunch  of  keys,  and  let  me  test 
the  truth  of  that  assertion." 

He  sprang  to  his  feet.  "  Confound  you,"  he 
cried,  "  you  go  a  step  too  far.  How  many  times 
am  I  to  be  told  I  am  a  liar  in  my  own  room?  " 

1  You  desired  to  convince  me  that  you  were  not 
a  liar.  Here  is  the  test.  Lend  me  your  keys." 

"  I  will  not,"  he  cried.  "  Leave  my  room.  I 
have  stood  your  impertience  long  enough." 

"  Give  me,"  I  said,  "  my  sister-in-law's  letters, 
which  are  in  that  safe." 

"  Leave  my  chambers  this  instant !  " 

"  I  want  those  letters  first." 

He  controlled  himself  suddenly.  "  I  do  not 
wish  to  put  you  to  any  unnecessary  indignity,  Tre- 
[60] 


IN    OPEN    CONFLICT 

wint,  but,  unless  you  leave  these  rooms,  I  shall  tell 
my  servant  to  turn  you  out." 

My  blood  was  getting  up.  "  You  must  give 
me  these  letters ;  for,  by  Heaven  I  I  will  not  leave 
till  I  have  them." 

He  crossed  to  the  bell,  and  I  clinched  my  fists 
and  waited.  He  pressed  the  knob,  and  I  could 
hear  the  "  trill  "  in  a  remote  part  of  the  chambers. 
His  face  was  pale,  but  his  composure  had  returned 
as  suddenly  as  mine  had  left  me. 

"  Surely  we  are  not  to  indulge  in  a  vulgar 
fracas?  "  he  said.  "  What  possible  good  can  it  do 
you  to  be  thrown  out  by  brute  force  ?  " 

"  Give  me  those  letters,"  I  answered  stubbornly, 
"  and  I'll  go  quietly  enough." 

"Aren't  you  behaving  rather  stupidly?" 
There  was  a  note  of  indulgent  contempt  in  his 
voice.  "  You  come  to  ask  me  for  certain  docu- 
ments. I  tell  you  with  sincere  regret  that  they 
have  been  stolen  from  me.  You  beg  leave  to  ran- 
sack my  private  safe  with  the  benevolent  intention 
of  proving  me  a  liar.  Not  unnaturally  I  decline 
to  give  way  to  your  folly.  You  then  refuse  to 
leave  my  rooms  and  make  a  scene,  having  to  be 
pitched  out  by  my  servant.  And  the  steps  are 
stone,"  he  added. 

"  I  am  not  pitched  out  yet,"  I  replied  grimly. 
[61] 


THE   TRIFLER 

But  I  confess  that  it  was  dawning  on  me  that  I  was 
making  a  fool  of  myself.  Whether  the  letters  were 
in  the  safe  or  not,  I  was  not  in  the  least  increasing 
my  chance  of  getting  them.  Why  should  I  fight 
with  a  servant?  And  yet  my  pride — so  foolish  is 
pride — made  it  difficult  for  me  to  give  way. 

At  that  moment  the  door  opened  and  Tarling 
entered.  I  had  entirely  forgotten  my  conversation 
with  him,  but  as  soon  as  I  saw  his  face  I  remem- 
bered it.  It  was  not  unlikely  he  would  decline  to 
engage  in  a  scuffling  match  with  me. 

"  Tarling,"  Trefusis  ordered,  "  show  Mr.  Tre- 
wint  the  door." 

"  Tarling,"  said  I,  "  your  master  is  a  scoundrel." 

Tarling  stood  at  the  door  with  his  mouth  slightly 
open. 

"  Show  Mr.  Trewint  out,"  Trefusis  continued 
in  an  even  voice,  "  or  if  he  will  not  go,  I. must  ask 
you  to  put  him  out.  But  do  not  use  unnecessary 
violence."  He  took  out  his  cigarette  case,  and 
fingered  another  cigarette. 

"  Tarling,"  said  I,  "  listen  to  me.  A  lady  who 
is  a  relation  of  mine  wrote  your  master  some  letters. 
He  thinks " 

"  Are  you  seriously  proposing  to  make  my  ser- 
vant a  confidant?"  asked  Trefusis,  with  amused 
wonder  in  his  voice. 

[62] 


IN    OPEN    CONFLICT 

I  took  no  notice  of  his  interruption.  "  He 
thinks  the  letters  are  compromising,  and  because 
the  lady  got  tired  of  him  and  married  someone  else, 
he  is  threatening  to  show  her  letters  to  her  hus- 
band. He  has  even  had  them  printed  to  send 
to  her  friends.  Is  not  that  the  act  of  a  black- 
guard?" 

Tarling  stood  motionless,  save  that  his  mouth 
opened  wider. 

"  I  fear  you  are  not  interesting  my  man,"  ob- 
served Trefusis  sarcastically.  "  Tarling,  turn  this 
fool  out." 

"  Tarling,"  I  began  for  the  third  time,  "  the 
lady  has  asked  me  to  help  her.  The  letters  are 
in  that  safe.  The  keys  are  in  your  master's 
pockets.  Help  me  to  get  them." 

Trefusis  laughed.  "  Really,  you  have  the  most 
astounding  insolence!  Tarling,  kick  this  fellow 
out  of  my  room;  or,  if  you  are  afraid,  go  and  fetch 
a  policeman."  He  glanced  at  the  clock.  "  Hurry 
up,  man,  or  I  shall  be  late  for  dinner." 

Tarling  smiled  feebly  and  scratched  his  head. 
Then  his  mouth  shut  and  he  advanced  into  the 
room.  Trefusis  had  turned  away  indifferently  and 
was  lighting  his  cigarette.  My  eye  caught  Tar- 
ling's,  and  I  saw  from  the  answering  gleam  that 
he  had  decided  to  throw  in  his  lot  with  me. 
[63] 


THE     TRIFLER 

"  Now  then,  Tarling "  began  Trefusis, 

hardly  deigning  to  look  around.  The  next  moment 
the  arms  of  his  servant  were  round  him  with  a  grip 
of  iron. 

"  Now,  Master  Fred,  you  can  get  at  his  keys," 
said  Tarling. 

"  Can  you  hold  him  all  right?  "  I  cried,  hasten- 
ing towards  him. 

"  '  Master  Fred/  "  echoed  Trefusis.  "  So  you 
know  him,  do  you?  Damn  you,  Trewint,  have 
you  been  nobbling  my  servant  ?  " 

"  Have  you  got  them?  "  asked  Tarling. 

"  Yes,  yes."  I  had  hauled  the  keys  by  their 
chain  from  Trefusis'  pocket,  and  had  detached  the 
bunch.  I  crossed  to  the  safe  and  began  testing 
the  various  keys  in  the  lock.  Trefusis  had  given 
over  struggling,  for  Tarling  had  twisted  his  arms 
behind  him  in  such  a  way  that  any  movement  meant 
agony.  His  face  was  livid,  and  there  was  a 
vindictive  look  in  his  eyes.  When  I  glanced  in 
his  direction,  I  could  see  Tarling's  face,  like  a 
harvest  moon,  over  his  shoulder. 

Undoubtedly  I  was  feeling  rather  excited.  My 
fingers  trembled  as  I  tried  the  keys  in  turn.  At 
length  I  found  one  that  turned  the  lock. 

"  Please  remember,"  cried  Trefusis,  "  that  you 
are  committing  a  criminal  act.  You  and  your  con- 
[64] 


IN    OPEN    CONFLICT 

federate  are  rendering  yourselves  liable  to  penal 
servitude." 

"  You  alarm  me,"  I  replied  with  indifference. 
I  had  opened  the  door  of  the  safe  and  was  peering 
in  vaguely  at  the  books  and  papers  it  contained. 
"  By  the  way,  Tarling,  did  a  parcel  come  from  a 
printer's  a  week  or  so  ago?  " 

Tarling  thought.  "  I  remember  a  parcel 
coming  from  Glasgow,  because  I  had  to  pay 
on  it." 

"  Can  you  see  it  here?  " 

Tarling  urged  his  master  across  the  room. 

"  That  looks  like  it  on  the  left,"  he  said. 

I  hauled  out  the  packet  indicated.  It  was 
tied  up  roughly  with  a  string.  I  placed  it  on  the 
table  and  proceeded  to  unfasten  a  knot. 

"  If  you  open  that  parcel  I  will  prosecute  you," 
cried  Trefusis  rather  wildly. 

I  took  no  notice.  The  brown  paper  fell  aside 
and  disclosed  about  fifty  replicas  of  the  booklet 
I  had  seen  in  Mabel's  hands. 

I  turned  to  Trefusis.  "Oh,  you  liar!"  His 
face  was  white  and  drawn,  and  even  at  the  mo- 
ment I  felt  a  vague  stirring  of  compassion.  He 
uttered  not  a  word. 

"  Is  that  all  you  want?  "  asked  Tarling. 

"Where  are  the  originals?" 
[65] 


THE   TRIFLER 

"  What's  that  there  amongst  the  little  books?  " 
asked  Tarling,  jerking  his  chin  towards  a  bulky 
envelope.  I  hastily  tore  it  open. 

"  Right,"  said  I;  "here  they  are,  and  the  re- 
ceipted bill  for  the  printing.  That  may  be  useful." 
I  slipped  the  packet  into  my  pocket  and  roughly 
tied  up  the  bigger  parcel.  "  That's  all  I  want. 
The  next  thing  is  to  clear  out." 

"  /  can't  stay  here,  sir,  after  all  this,"  observed 
Tarling. 

"  No,  of  course  you  can't.  You  must  come  along 
with  me.  And  I  think  you  can  let  go  Mr.  Tre- 
fusis'  arms.  I've  got  what  I  want,  and  I  certainly 
shan't  let  go  of  it." 

Tarling  relinquished  his  hold,  and  Trefusis, 
after  standing  for  a  moment  regarding  us  with  a 
scowl  of  hate,  flung  himself  into  a  chair. 

"If  you've  got  what  you  want,"  he  said  sul- 
lenly, "  go  away.  But  you  will  certainly  hear  from 


me." 


"  Come  along,  Tarling."  I  tucked  the  parcel 
comfortably  under  my  arm  and  put  on  my  hat. 
Suddenly  the  bell  rang. 

"  Damn!  "  I  exclaimed.  Trefusis  started  to  at- 
tention, and  then  made  a  sudden  dash  for  the 
door. 

"  Stop  him!  "  I  shouted.  Tarling  made  a  long 
[66] 


IN    OPEN    CONFLICT 

reach,  collared  him,  and  flung  him  back  upon  the 
sofa. 

The  bell  rang  again. 

"  Help  I  "  shouted  Trefusis.     "  Help !  help !  " 

"  Come,"  said  I  to  Tarling,  "  we  must  get  out 
of  this.  Is  there  any  other  way  out  save  through 
the  front  door?" 

"  No,  sir,"  answered  Tarling.  "  Shall  I  answer 
the  door  and  say  Mr.  Trefusis  is  not  at  home?  " 

"  Good  idea !  No,  hang  it,  the  man  outside 
must  have  heard  Trefusis  shouting.  We  had  bet- 
ter go  straight  out  and  trust  our  luck." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Tarling. 

"  And  you  had  better  lock  Mr.  Trefusis  in  this 
room,  and  bring  the  key  away  with  you." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Good-by,  Trefusis,"  I  said.  We  went  out, 
and  Trefusis,  dashing  forward,  tried  to  force  his 
way  past  us,  but  a  violent  push  from  Tarling  sent 
him  reeling  back  into  the  room.  Tarling  locked 
the  door,  and  then  went  for  his  hat.  The  bell  con- 
tinued to  ring,  and,  to  add  to  the  noise,  Trefusis 
commenced  to  batter  at  the  panels  of  the  door  with 
his  fists,  shouting  loudly  for  help. 

"Are  you  ready?  "  said  I  to  Tarling  when  he 
had  returned. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

[67] 


THE    TRIFLER 

"  Open  the  door,  then." 

He  flung  it  open.  A  young  man  in  evening  dress 
stood  outside,  evidently  in  a  state  of  alarm. 

"What — what  is  the  meaning  of  this?"  he 
quavered. 

"Of  what?"  I  asked. 

"Of— of  that  shouting?" 

"Oh,  that!"  I  answered.  "It  is  merely  Mr. 
Trefusis.  Pray  walk  in.  He  will  be  most  pleased 
to  see  you." 

But  he  hesitated.  "  I  do  not  understand " 

he  began. 

"  He  will  explain,"  I  replied  in  a  friendly  tone. 
"  The  story  will  amuse  you  very  much." 

"  But  really,"  he  stammered,  "  I  hear  Mr.  Tre- 
fusis calling  out  4  Thieves ! ' 

"  If  you  will  accompany  me,"  I  said,  "  I  will  tell 
you  the  details  of  this  amusing  incident  as  we  walk 
along.  I  am  sure  it  will  interest  you.  But  I  can- 
not stay,  for  I  am  in  a  great  hurry.  Or  perhaps 
you  would  prefer  to  go  inside  and  let  Mr.  Trefusis 
tell  you  in  his  own  words." 

"  I — I — must  insist  on  a  proper  explanation." 

I  shook  my  head  smilingly.    "Then  you  must 

get  it  from  Mr.  Trefusis,  for  I  really  can't  stop." 

And  I  commenced  to  descend  the  stairs,  Tarling 

following  me.    The  battering  at  the  door  and  the 

[68] 


IN    OPEN    CONFLICT 

shouts  for  assistance  increased  in  vehemence.  The 
young  man  looked  with  hesitation  at  us  disappear- 
ing from  his  view,  and  then  he  regarded  dubiously 
the  open  door  of  the  flat.  So  we  left  him,  evidently 
greatly  at  a  loss  as  to  the  course  to  be  pursued. 

"If  that  young  man  makes  up  his  mind  to  shout 
to  the  porter  to  stop  us  before  we  get  out  of  the 
place,  we  shall  be  awkwardly  situated,"  I  observed. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  But  if  we  can  get  into  a  cab  while  he  is  fluctu- 
ating, I  am  really  not  alarmed  about  the  future." 

"  No,  sir." 

"  At  the  same  time,  to  hurry  will  only  attract 
attention." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"It  is  lucky,  is  it  not,  Tarling,  that  that  young 
man  is  of  the  flutter-brained  class?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

By  this  time  we  had  reached  the  ground  floor, 
and  we  walked  quietly  out  into  the  Burlington 
Gardens. 

"  Call  a  cab,"  I  said  to  Tarling,  and  he  did  so. 
We  got  in,  and  told  the  cabman  to  drive  to  my 
chambers. 

"  After  all,  there  was  no  need  for  hurry,"  said 
I,  drawing,  at  the  same  time,  a  breath  of  relief.  I 
leant  back  in  the  cab  with  a  feeling  of  complacency. 
[69] 


THE   TRIFLER 

"  The  truth  is,  Tarling,  the  odds  are  in  favor  of  a 
man  who  can  keep  his  head." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  If  we  had  rushed  down  the  staircase,  red-faced 
and  wild-eyed,  the  porter  would  have  stopped  us. 
As  it  is,  he  did  not  raise  his  head  from  his  news- 
paper as  we  passed." 

"No,  sir." 

I  glanced  at  a  clock  in  Bond  Street.  "  By  Jove, 
half-past  seven,  and  I  am  due  at  my  brother's  at 
eight.  I  shall  have  to  hurry.  Tarling,  I  take  you 
into  my  employment.  At  present  an  elderly  widow 
lady  who  has  seen  better  days  gives  me  my  break- 
fast and  cleans  out  my  rooms.  At  any  rate,  she 
says  she  does.  But  there  is  no  reason  why  I  should 
not  have  a  valet.  You  would  like  to  enter  my 
service,  wouldn't  you,  Tarling?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir."    He  beamed  at  the  suggestion. 

The  cab  stopped,  and  I  jumped  out.  Telling 
the  cabman  to  wait,  I  ran  upstairs  to  my  rooms  and 
hastily  dressed.  In  less  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
I  was  ready  to  start. 

I  locked  up  the  parcel  of  ribbon-bedecked  book- 
lets, and  put  the  letters  into  my  pocket;  and  then 
I  jumped  into  my  cab,  and,  feeling  at  peace  with  all 
mankind,  arrived,  with  a  few  minutes  in  hand,  at 
my  brother's  house. 

[70] 


CHAPTER  V 

MOLLY 

WHEN  I  entered  the  drawing  room  I 
found  Mabel  and  her  mother  alone. 
"  I  was  afraid  I  was  going  to  be  late," 
I  said,  as  I  shook  hands.  "  Where's  everybody?  " 

"  Gerald  has  gone  down  to  the  wine-cellar,"  said 
Mabel.  "  He  trusts  no  one  with  the  keys,  not  even 
me.  I  suppose  he  thinks  I  am  still  too  recent. 
And  the  Telbys  haven't  turned  up  yet." 

"  How  are  you?  "  asked  Mrs.  Fielders,  nodding 
affably  from  the  sofa.  "  Mabel  looks  all  right, 
doesn't  she?  I  suppose  you  didn't  see  her  yester- 
day when  you  called  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  did,"  I  answered. 

"  Fred  is  quite  the  cause  of  my  return  to  health," 
observed  Mabel.  "  He  is  so  comforting."  Then 
she  looked  toward  me,  and  her  eyes  framed  a  mute 
interrogation.  I  nodded  gently  in  response. 

"  Oh,  Fred,"  she  cried  suddenly,  "  did  I  ever 
show  you  the  lovely  vases  the  tenantry  at  Trewint 
ga-ve  us?  "  She  led  the  way  into  the  back  drawing 
room,  and  I  followed. 


THE   TRIFLER 

"  What  news?  "  she  asked  in  a  whisper. 

"  I  have  your  letters.    Here  they  are." 

She  seized  them  and  her  eyes  sparkled. 

"  Thank  you,  Fred,  so  much;  so  very  much.  Oh, 
Fred,  you  are  a  dear  1 " 

At  that  moment  we  heard  Gerald's  voice,  and 
she  thrust  the  letters  into  her  pocket.  We  went 
back  again  into  the  other  room. 

"  Well,  Fred,  how  are  you  ?  "  asked  my  brother 
rather  pre-occupiedly. 

"  All  right,  thanks." 

"  I  can't  understand  why  those  Telbys  don't 
come.  It  is  exceedingly  bad  form  to  be  late." 

"  They  are  only  five  minutes  behind  time,  dear," 
said  his  wife  soothingly. 

"  Five  minutes  late  is  five  minutes  late,"  her  hus- 
band responded  oracularly.  Then  he  turned  to  me. 
"  By  the  way,  Fred,  I  must  particularly  beg  you 
not  to  annoy  Mr.  Telby." 

"  Why,  certainly  not,"  said  I,  rather  astonished. 
"Why  should  I?" 

*'  He  is  a  very  serious-minded  man.  Pray  try 
and  check  your  flippant  nonsense.  It  annoys  me, 
but  it  will  disgust  him." 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders.  Mrs.  Fielders  gave  a 
little  cry  of  protest. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  Gerald,  we  shall  all  be  bored 


MOLLY 

to  death.  I  was  relying  on  Fred  to  entertain 
us." 

"  Fred  does  not  entertain  me,"  returned  my 
brother  severely.  "  I  confess  nothing  distresses 
me  so  much  as  having  to  listen  to  his  perverted 
views  on  things  in  general.  They  may  pass  as 
witty  with  foolish  people " 

"  Like  me,"  interposed  Mrs.  Fielders.  "  Fred, 
let  us  comfort  each  other.  Your  brother  has 
broken  both  our  heads." 

Gerald  went  on.  "  Mr.  Telby  is  a  man  with 
matured  convictions.  He  comes  of  a  Noncon- 
formist family  who  were,  without  exception, 
stanch  Radicals.  He  retains  his  religious  views, 
but  after  a  careful  study  of  political  questions,  he 
has  become  a  strong  upholder  of  Conservative 
opinions.  This  does  him  every  credit." 

"  A  Dissenter  by  birth,  and  a  Conservative  by 
conviction !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Fielders.  "  Every- 
thing points  to  a  pleasant  evening." 

"  Didn't  somebody  say  his  daughter  was  com- 
ing? "  I  asked  idly.  "  What  is  she  like?  " 

Mabel  broke  in.  "  Oh,  Fred,  you  know  the 
Telbys  are  enormously  wealthy.  It  really  would 
be  a  good  thing  if  you  got  to  like  the  girl.  She  is 
very  handsome,  and  would  make  a  splendid  wife." 

"  Not  having  any  brains,"  put  in  Mrs.  Fielders. 
[73] 


MOLLY 

"  My  dear  boy,  don't  marry  a  clever  woman.  My 
husband  did,  and  always  regretted  it." 

"  I  didn't  know  your  husband  married  twice," 
said  Gerald.  He  was  fidgeting  about  the  room, 
continually  glancing  at  his  watch.  "  But  it's  no 
good  advising  Fred  to  adopt  a  sensible  course.  It 
only  incites  him  to  take  the  opposite  way.  Besides, 
I  do  not  believe  Mr.  Telby  would  allow  his  daugh- 
ter to  marry  anyone  save  a  man  of  intellect  and 
character." 

"  I  must  see  the  lady  before  I  decide  definitely," 
I  replied  lightly,  to  turn  the  conversation.  My 
broher  was  certainly  in  his  least  amiable  mood. 

"  And  she  will  have  to  see  you,  which  is  another 
impediment.  It  is  no  good,  Mabel,  you  had  bet- 
ter give  up  your  scheme." 

"  Why,  Gerald,"  she  cried,  "  it  was  you  who 
made  the  suggestion  originally." 

"  Perhaps  I  did,"  he  snapped,  "  but  I  have  a 
conscience,  after  all.  The  girl  has  never  injured 
me.  Fifteen  minutes!  Intolerable,  utterly  in- 
tolerable ! " 

Luckily,  at  that  moment  Mr.  Telby  and  his 
daughter  were  announced.  He  bustled  in,  a  short, 
thick-set  man,  with  a  strong  chin  that  seemed  to 
betoken  tremendous  determination,  and  a  deep 
bass  voice,  which  vibrated  through  the  room  like  a 

[74] 


MOLLY 

gong.  Behind  him  came  his  daughter;  and  when 
my  eyes  fell  on  her  face  I  had  difficulty  in  with- 
drawing them.  She  was  tall  and  carried  herself 
well.  Her  face  was  absolutely  perfect  in  its 
queenly  beauty.  For  the  moment  I  had  the  sensa- 
tion of  repressing  a  tendency  to  gasp. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  am  so  late,"  said  Mr.  Telby.  in 
his  deep  voice,  "  but  I  waited  for  my  son.  It  was 
arranged  he  should  call  for  us  at  the  hotel."  He 
glanced  around  the  room.  "  Has  he  not  ar- 
rived?" 

"  No,"  said  Mabel  pleasantly,  as  she  shook 
hands  with  the  newcomers.  "  He  hasn't  come  yet. 
But  you  are  not  a  bit  late.  Let  me  introduce  you 
to  my  mother;  and  this  is  Mr.  Fred  Trewint." 

Mr.  Telby  shook  hands,  with  eyes  far  from 
mine.  "  It  is  strange,  isn't  it?  Molly,  where  can 
Gilbert  be?" 

Her  name  was  Molly !  I  touched  the  hand  she 
extended,  and  a  thrill  ran  through  me.  But  what 
a  stupid  name  for  so  regal  a  creature ! 

"  Oh,"  she  replied,  "  I  dare  say  he  has  forgotten 
all  about  his  engagement.  You  know,  papa,  he 
didn't  want  to  come." 

Mrs.  Fielders'  eyes  went  up,  and  Mabel,  for  a 
single  moment,  showed  surprise.  Mr.  Telby 
coughed  and  frowned,  but  the  beautiful  girl  was 

tail 


THE    TRIFLER 

quite  unconscious  that  she  had  said  anything  out 
of  place. 

Mabel  intervened  with  her  bright  smile. 

"  We  won't  wait,  Mr.  Telby.  I  dare  say  your 
son  will  forgive  us.  Fred,  will  you  take  down 
Miss  Telby?"  And  we  descended  to  the  dining 
room. 

"  I  can't  imagine  where  Gilbert  is,"  I  heard  the 
father  booming.  "  He  is  usually  so  punctual.  I 
can  place  the  utmost  reliance  on  his  promises." 

"  Are  you  anxious  about  your  brother,  Miss 
Telby?  "  I  asked,  as  we  took  our  seats. 

"Anxious?  Why  should  I  be  anxious?  "  She 
turned  her  wonderful  eyes  full  on  me.  "  What 
could  have  happened  to  him?  " 

"  Perhaps,"  said  I  lightly,  and  solely  to  say 
something,  "  he  has  been  run  over  by  a  steam- 
roller." 

It  was  an  exceedingly  stupid  remark,  but  surely 
anyone  might  be  expected  to  see  it  was  not  intended 
to  be  taken  seriously.  The  girl  looked  at  me  in  a 
startled  way,  and  then  she  leant  in  her  father's 
direction. 

"  Papa,"  she  said  in  her  rich,  full  voice,  that 
sounded  like  a  distant  echo  of  her  father's,  "  Mr. 
Trewint  is  afraid  Gilbert  has  been  run  over  by  a 
steam-roller  1  " 


MOLLY 

There  was  a  dead  silence.  And  then  Mabel 
laughed  rather  forcedly. 

"  Oh,  you  mustn't  take  any  notice  of  what  Fred 
says.  He  is  always  talking  nonsense." 

"  Miss  Telby  misunderstood  me,"  I  said  hastily. 
The  girl  was  a  perfect  idiot.  Mrs.  Fielders  was 
on  my  other  side,  and  I  turned  to  her  for  comfort. 

"  We  are  going  to  have  a  thoroughly  amusing 
evening,"  she  said.  "  Mr.  Telby  is  already  sum- 
marizing his  election  address." 

"  Not  much  summary  about  it,  either,"  I 
answered. 

"  His  voice  makes  me  wonder  if  there  is  a 
Providence,  after  all,"  Mrs.  Fielders  continued. 
"  Just  think  how  much  more  tolerable  he  would  be 
if  he  spoke  in  a  little,  tin-pot  whisper." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  then  one  wouldn't  have  to  listen.  As 
it  is,  I  find  myself  following  every  word.  I  am 
beginning  to  know  his  views.  It  is  quite 
terrible!" 

"  It  is  certainly  trying,"  I  admitted. 

**  Why  don't  you  talk  to  the  girl  on  your  left?  " 

"Frightened,"  I  answered  laconically;  and  yet 
I  found  my  glance  continually  straying  in  her  direc- 
tion. It  was  impossible  to  keep  my  eyes  away 
from  her  face. 

[77] 


THE   TRIFLER 

"  I  shall  not  be  able  to  last  out  much  longer," 
said  Mrs.  Fielders,  after  an  interval,  filled  only 
by  Mr.  Telby's  sonorous  intonation.  "  Cannot 
you  cause  a  distraction?  I  feel  my  nerves  are 
getting  tense." 

I  could  not  help  noticing  that  the  state  of  her 
nerves  did  not  seem  to  affect  her  appetite. 

"What  can  I  do?  "I  asked. 

"  Scream,"  she  answered.  "  One  loud  piercing 
scream  will  save  me." 

"  I  would  do  so  willingly  if  I  were  not  destined 
to  take  the  chair  at  his  metings.  If  I  scream  now, 
how  could  I  abstain  from  screaming  then?  " 

"  True,"  she  observed  thoughtfully.  "  I  won- 
der how  the  newspapers  would  report  the  incident? 
'At  this  moment, the  Chairman  screamed  violently, 
and  was  removed.  A  spare  Chairman  was 
brought  in,  and  the  speaker  proceeded.'  " 

"  Something  of  the  sort,"  I  answered  ab- 
stractly, gazing  in  a  different  direction.  Miss 
Telby's  eyes  met  mine. 

"  I  am  getting  quite  anxious  about  Gilbert,"  she 
said.  '  You  don't  really  think  an  accident  has 
happened  to  him?" 

"  No,  of  course  I  don't,"  I  replied.  "  I  was 
only  trying  to  be  funny.  It  was  foolish  of  me." 

Her  eyes  opened  a  little  wider  and  she  sighed 
[78] 


MOLLY 

gently.  "  Milly  says  I  have  no  sense  of  humor. 
I  often  think  people  are  serious  when  they  are  not. 
Humor,"  she  added  pathetically,  "  seems  so  often 
to  consist  of  saying  what  you  don't  mean." 

What  a  brute  I  had  been  to  worry  this  gentle 
creature ! 

"  My  remark  wasn't  a  bit  humorous,"  I  re- 
plied remorsefully.  "  It  was  only  silly.  But 
who  is  Milly?" 

Her  eyes  brightened.  "  Milly  is  my  younger 
sister.  I  am  sure  you  would  like  her;  she  is  so 
clever." 

"  Is  she  in  town  with  you  ?  " 

"Oh,  no;  she  is  down  at  Trewint.  You  have 
no  idea  what  an  important  person  she  is  there. 
She  rushes  about  all  over  the  country  on  her 
bicycle,  and  looks  after  people — poor  people,  I 
mean.  Mr.  Vicars  often  says  he  would  not  know 
what  to  do  without  her." 

I  nodded.  "  I  suppose  Mr.  Vicars  is  a 
parson?  " 

"  He  is  a  minister;  the  minister  of  the  chapel. 
Milly  teaches  in  the  Sunday  school.  She  has  a 
class  of  boys,  some  of  them  quite  big.  They 
simply  a-dore  her." 

"And  don't  you  teach  in  the  Sunday  School?" 
I  asked,  with  a  reproving  air. 
[79] 


THE    TRIFLER 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  replied.  "  I  did  try  orue,  but 
somehow  I  couldn't  think  of  anything  to  say.  It 
was  really  rather  horrible  for  me,  and  then  the 
children  began  to  giggle.  Children  are  so  clever," 
she  added,  sighing. 

"  Is  Milly  your  only  sister?  "  I  asked,  continu- 
ing the  conversation,  chiefly,  I  am  afraid,  that  I 
might  have  an  excuse  for  keeping  my  eyes  on  her 
face. 

"  Yes.  I  have  a  brother,  as  you  know ;  the 
brother  you  thought  had  been  run  over.  He  is 
not  very  clever;  none  of  us  are  clever  except 
Milly." 

"I  am  not  clever  either,"  I  told  her  con- 
fidentially. "  At  least  I  am  always  being  told  so; 
and  I  suppose  it  must  be  true." 

"  Oh,  I  should  think  you  were  clever,"  she  re- 
plied. "  Aren't  you  going  to  help  father  at  the 
election  ?  He  told  me  you  were  going  to  take  the 
chair  at  his  big  meetings.  You  must  be  clever  to 
be  able  to  do  that." 

"  Anyone  can  sit  in  a  chair,"  I  replied  depreca- 
tingly.  "  The  question  is  what  shall  I  do  when  I 
am  standing  up." 

"  I  am  sure  you  speak  splendidly.  Everyone 
thinks  so  much  of  the  Trewints.  Of  course,  they 
are  the  big  people  in  Trewint.  Father  was  rather 
[80] 


MOLLY 

disappointed  Sir  Gerald  couldn't  come  himself,  but 
I  am  certain  you  will  do  just  as  well." 

"  I  don't  think  my  brother  would  like  to  hear 
you  say  that,"  I  said  laughingly.  "  But  I  suppose 
you  will  come  to  the  meetings  and  sit  on  the  plat- 
form?" 

"  Oh,  yes." 

"  When  I  get  into  any  difficulty  I  shall  turn  to 
you  for  help.  You  must  sit  quite  near." 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  cried  affrightedly,  "  you  mustn't 
depend  on  me  to  help  you.  But  I  am  sure  Milly 
will  do  so.  I  will  tell  her." 

When  dinner  was  nearly  over,  a  knock  at  the 
front  door  betokened  a  new  arrival,  and  shortly 
afterward  a  footman  ushered  a  young  man  into 
the  room,  at  whose  advent  there  was  an  immediate 
outburst  of  little  exclamations. 

"Why,  Gilbert,"  said  Mr.  Telby,  his  voice 
drowning  every  other,  "  how  comes  it  you  are  so 
late?" 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  the  young  man  as  he 
passed  round  to  shake  hands  with  his  hostess,  "  but 
I— I  couldn't  help  it." 

"  It  doesn't  in  the  least  matter,"  said  Mabel. 
"  We  are  so  glad  you  have  come,  after  all."  She 
indicated  the  vacant  chair,  and  he  sat  down. 

The  room  was  lit  only  by  the  lamps  on  the 
[81] 


THE   TRIFLER 

table,  but  as  he  sat  down  his  face  was  brought  into 
the  circle  of  light,  and  I  wondered  vaguely  where 
I  had  seen  him  before. 

"I  was  detained  by  a  most  extraordinary  affair.'* 
He  seemed  very  nervous,  and  I  noticed  his  hand 
trembled  as  he  unfolded  his  serviette. 

"  Not  a  steam-roller?  "  asked  his  sister  breath- 
lessly. 

"A  steam-roller!"  He  seemed  bewildered. 
"  Oh,  no.  I  ran  in  for  a  moment  to  see  a  friend 
of  mine,  before  going  on  to  the  hotel  where,  you 
know,  father,  I  promised  to  meet  you." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Telby. 

"And — and  a  burglary  had  just  been  com- 
mitted." 

"A  burglary!"  everybody  ejaculated,  except 
myself,  for  I  recollected  where  we  had  met. 

"  I  went  round  to  Trefusis'  chambers " 

"  Trefusis !  "  exclaimed  Mabel,  her  face  be- 
coming scarlet. 

"  That  is  the  name  of  my  friend.  He  lives  in 
the  Albany.  Just  as  I  got  to  his  door,  the  thieves 
were  coming  out.  One  of  them  had  a  bundle 
under  his  arm." 

"And  you  stopped  them?"  said  his  father. 
He  looked  round  triumphantly,  preparing  to  glory 
in  his  son's  achievement. 

[82] 


MOLLY 

"  N— -no.  You  see,  I  didn't  know  they  were 
burglars.  They  didn't  look  like  it.  One  was 
Trefusis'  servant,  whom  I  had  often  seen." 

"  Was  he  a  confederate?  "  asked  my  brother. 

"  Yes.  The  other  looked  like  a  gentleman. 
Quite  young,  and  rather  good-looking.  He  spoke 
to  me,  but  he  semed  so  self-possessed  and  cool  that 
I  could  hardly  believe " 

"  Of  course  not,"  interposed  his  father. 
"  How  in  the  world  could  you  know?  You  can't 
tell  instinctively  who  is  and  who  is  not  a  thief. 
And  there  was  nothing  to  raise  your  suspicions." 

"  Of  course,"  said  young  Telby,  rather  em- 
barrassedly,  "  I  could  hear  Trefusis  shouting." 

"Your  friend  was  in  his  rooms  the  while?" 
queried  Gerald. 

"  Yes.  You  see,  it  happened  like  this.  The 
servant  showed  a  man  in,  who  said  he  wished  to 
see  Trefusis  on  business.  Trefusis  spoke  to  him, 
and  he  was  insolent.  So  Trefusis  rang  for  his 
servant,  and  told  him  to  turn  the  fellow  out. 
Instead  of  doing  so,  the  servant  flung  his  arms 
round  Trefusis,  and  held  him  fast  while  the  other 
pulled  Trefusis'  keys  out  of  his  pocket  and  opened 
the  safe.  They  took  what  they  wanted  and  went 
away,  locking  Trefusis  up  in  his  room." 

I  stole  a  glance  at  Mabel.     Her  face  was  ab- 

[83] 


THE   TRIFLER 

solutely  purple,  and  her  eyes  were  fixed  with  a 
fascinated  stare  on  young  Tclby.  She  withdrew 
them  with  an  effort,  and  they  met  mine.  We  both 
instantly  averted  our  gaze. 

"  What  a  very  audacious  business !  "  exclaimed 
my  brother.  "  It  is  astonishing  that  such  things 
can  happen  in  London.  Did  they  take  anything 
of  value?" 

"  Only  some  papers ;  some  very  important 
papers." 

A  little  choked  exclamation  came  from  Mabel. 

"  You  see,  I  rang  the  bell  outside,  and  that  dis- 
turbed them.  Trefusis  thinks  it  is  very  lucky  I 
came  at  that  moment." 

"  I  have  no  doubt,"  said  Mr.  Telby,  with  a 
proud  note  in  his  voice,  "  that  you  were  the  means 
of  saving  him  a  great  deal,  possibly  his  life." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  the  youth  modestly. 
"  I  rang  the  bell  several  times,  and  I  could  get  no 
answer.  I  could  hear  movements  inside,  or  I 
suppose  I  should  have  gone  away.  And  then  the 
door  opened  and  the  two  men  came  out.  I  could 
hear  Trefusis  shouting,  and  I  asked  one  of  the  men 
what  was  the  meaning  of  it.  He  answered,  very 
pleasantly,  that  he  couldn't  stop  to  explain,  but 
that  Mr.  Trefusis  would  tell  me  all  about  it. 
Then  he  nodded  in  quite  a  friendly  way  and  went 
[84] 


MOLLY 

slowly  down  the  stairs.  I  didn't  know  what  to 
do." 

"  Why  didn't  you  stop  them  and  demand  an 
explanation?"  asked  my  brother. 

"  Well  you  see,  they  were  two  and  I  was  only 
one,"  replied  the  young  man  simply.  "And  be- 
sides, I  could  hear  Trefusis  shouting  and  banging 
at  the  door.  I  thought  I  ought  to  go  to  him  first." 

"  You  did  quite  right,"  said  his  father,  rather 
nettled  at  the  suspicion  thrown  on  his  son's  hero- 
ism. "  You  were  quite  right  to  go  to  your  friend's 
assistance.  There  might  have  been  a  third  burglar 
inside,  severely  injuring  him." 

"  Well,"  asked  Mrs.  Fielders,  "  what  happened 
next?" 

"  It  took  a  short  time  to  get  Trefusis  out.  We 
had  to  break  the  lock.  And  then  it  took  some  time 
for  him  to  explain  what  had  happened." 

"  I  suppose  you  communicated  with  the  police?  " 

"  Trefusis  said  he  would  see  to  that.  He  was 
in  a  tremendous  rage,  but  he  said  nothing  could 
be  done  at  the  minute,  for  they  must  have  had  lots 
of  time  to  get  away." 

"  Most  extraordinary  affair  altogether,"  ob- 
served my  brother. 

"  I  stayed  some  time  talking  to  Trefusis,  and  I 
am  afraid  it  put  my  engagement  here  quite  out  of 
[85] 


THE   TRIFLER 

my  head.  But  when  I  remembered,  I  hurried  here 
as  quickly  as  I  could."  He  looked  apologetically 
towards  Mabel,  who  tried  to  smile,  but  succeeded 
badly. 

"  Plucky  of  you  to  come  on  here  after  such  a.n 
experience,"  said  Mr.  Telby,  who  evidently  re- 
garded his  son  as  worthy  of  all  admiration. 

"  What  was  the  second  fellow  like — the  one 
who  seemed  a  gentleman?"  asked  Gerald. 

"  Rather  tall  and  slight.  He  spoke  with  a 
drawl.  He  had  rather  a  pleasant  manner, 
though." 

"  The  description  quite  suits  you,  Fred,"  said 
Mrs.  Fielders  in  her  chaffing  way.  "  I  hope  you 
haven't  been  doing  any  burgling." 

Mabel  gave  a  smothered  cry,  but  Mrs.  Fielders' 
remark  and  Mabel's  exclamation  passed  unnoticed, 
for  everyone's  attention  was  fixed  on  the  hero  of 
the  moment. 

"  It  is  a  scandalous  business,"  said  my  brother 
indignantly.  "  Our  lives  are  not  safe  in  our  own 
houses.  Why,  bless  me,  Miss  Telby  1 " 

We  all  turned  to  Molly,  who  was  found  to  be  in 
tears. 

"  It  is  nothing,"  she  said,  wiping  her  eyes  with 
her  serviette.     "I  am  very  foolish,  but,  oh,  if 
those  dreadful  men  had  hurt  Gilbert  1 " 
[86] 


MOLLY 

In  my  eagerness  to  console  her,  I  forgot  the 
kindly  protection  of  the  flower-vase  which  I  had 
been  keeping  between  Gilbert  Telby  and  myself. 
I  leant  forward  to  whisper  consoling  words  in  her 
ear.  Looking  up  suddenly,  I  discovered  the  young 
man's  eyes  fixed  on  me.  A  spoonful  of  soup  was 
poised  in  mid-air.  Then  the  spoon  emptied  its 
contents  into  his  lap.  His  mouth  opened,  and  he 
gave  a  kind  of  shocked  exclamation. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Gilbert?"  cried  his  father. 
"  The  affair  has  been  too  much  for  you.  You  are 
faint?" 

"  It  is  nothing,  nothing,"  murmured  the  young 
fellow.  His  eyes  withdrew  themselves  from  mine 
with  an  effort. 

"  Some  brandy,  please.  Let  my  son  have  some 
brandy !  "  cried  the  father,  quite  distracted. 

The  servants  flew  to  administer  remedies. 

"  The  Telby  family  is  quite  prostrated,"  mur- 
mured Mrs.  Fielders  in  my  ears.  "  I  really  don't 
think  much  of  their  nerves.  Does  Mabel  intend 
to  keep  us  here  whilst  that  young  man  has  his 
dinner?  It  will  take  a  long  time,  if  he  is  to  have 
restoratives  administered  between  every  course." 

And  then  Mabel  began  to  talk  in  a  high-pitched 
voice,    punctuated   with    little   bursts   of    foolish 
laughter.     Mrs.  Fielders  looked  at  her  anxiously. 
[8?] 


THE   TRIFLER 

"What  is  the  matter  with  everybody?  Now 
Mabel  is  going  to  be  hysterical.  I  really  should 
not  have  thought  it  of  her." 

I  looked  at  Mabel  and  frowned.  She  caught 
my  glance,  and  checked  herself  in  the  middle  of  a 
sentence.  Then  her  mother  looked  at  her  and 
half  rose.  I  opened  the  door  and  the  three  ladies 
filed  out. 

We  lit  cigars,  and  I  drank  some  liqueur  brandy, 
while  the  young  man,  whose  appetite  had  left  him, 
made  a  pretense  of  eating  some  of  the  dishes  the 
servants  proffered.  But  he  soon  gave  up  the  at- 
tempt and  sat  silent,  drawing  quaint  designs  with 
his  fingers  on  the  tablecloth,  occasionally  casting 
furtive  glances  in  my  direction.  His  father  kept 
pestering  him  with  questions,  which  he  answered 
almost  incoherently.  At  length  the  subject  began 
to  bore  my  brother,  who  broke  in  with  a  question 
about  the  Trewint  election.  This  served  to  turn 
the  conversation,  and  soon  Mr.  Telby  was  dilating 
in  his  deep  voice  on  the  political  situation. 

At  length  we  joined  the  ladies.  Mabel  glanced 
apprehensively  at  her  husband's  face  as  he  entered 
the  room.  I  think  she  feared  that  young  Telby 
had  accused  me  of  being  particeps  criminis,  and  that ' 
I  had  divulged  the  whole  story.  She  cheered  up  a 
little  when  she  found  that  peace  still  reigned  serene. 
[88] 


MOLLY 

It  was  not  long  before  Mr.  Telby,  who  must 
have  noticed  the  pale  face  and  constrained  manner 
of  his  son,  prepared  to  take  his  departure. 

'  Your  brother  will  be  down  at  Trewint  early 
next  week,  will  he  not?  "  he  asked  Gerald. 

'  Yes,  certainly,"  my  brother  responded. 

"Of  course  he  will  stay  with  us  during  the 
election." 

"  That  is  very  kind  of  you.  I  am  sure  he  will 
be  delighted.  Of  course,  Trewint  Hall  would  be 
lonely " 

"  Then  we  will  take  that  as  settled." 

"  Thank  you,  very  much." 

I  was  not  consulted.  Yet,  as  his  chairman,  it 
did  seem  to  me  he  should  show  me  more  deference. 
However,  it  would  be  pleasant  to  be  able  to  look 
at  Molly. 

When  they  had  gone  I  turned  to  Mabel,  who 
happened  to  be  alone. 

"  I  expect  young  Telby  will  give  his  father  the 
tip  to  lock  up  the  spoons  while  I  am  staying  at  their 
place." 

She  turned  reproachful  eyes  on  me. 

"  You  make  a  jest  of  everything,"  she  said. 
"  I  only  hope  it  may  not  prove  more  than  a  joke. 
Oh,  Fred,  how  could  you  1 " 

[89] 


CHAPTER  VI 

AN  ANGRY  FATHER 

ENG  in  a  state  of  drowsy  semi-consciousness, 
the  next  morning,  I  was  awakened  by 
Tarling  entering  my  bedroom.  For  some 
moments,  I  wondered  who  he  was  and  what  he 
wanted.  Gradually  I  remembered  the  events  of 
the  previous  day,  and  with  the  recollection  there 
came  over  me  a  feeling  of  serene  self-complacency. 

"Hot  or  cold  bath,  sir?" 

"  Cold." 

When  a  naturally  indolent  man  overcomes  his 
reluctance  to  exertion,  and  when  his  unusual  ac- 
tivity is  crowned  with  complete  success,  he  feels 
himself  a  mighty  hero.  There  is  nothing  more 
exhilarating  than  the  sense  of  achievement,  and 
naturally  the  feeling  is  more  intense  when  the 
individual  is  unaccustomed  to  essay.  I  lay  in  bed 
with  a  smile  on  my  face.  Yesterday,  I  had  a 
horrid  task  before  me,  which  I  saw  little  prospect 
of  carrying  through.  To-day  my  anxieties  were 
ended.  I  had  wrested  Mabel's  letters  from  her 


THE   TRIFLER 

enemy's  grasp.  She  was  happy  and  safe,  and  I 
was  freed  from  an  unpleasant  business. 

Yes,  but  was  I?  Trefusis  was  an  ugly  cus- 
tomer. The  keynote  of  his  character  was  ma- 
liciousness, united  to  an  ingenuity  which  seemed 
hardly  that  of  a  sane  man.  Would  he  let  me 
alone  ?  Perhaps  at  this  very  moment  he,  too,  was 
lying  on  his  back  in  bed,  watching,  like  myself,  the 
gyrations  of  three  sportive  flies  on  a  white  ceiling, 
and  elaborating  some  subtle,  heart-racking  form  of 
revenge,  designed  to  bend  and  ultimately  to  break 
my  proud  spirit.  Let  him  do  his  worst !  Had  I 
not  proved  his  match  ? 

Yes,  but I  fell  into  a  train  of  uneasy 

musings.  It  is  all  very  well  to  feel  superior  to 
another  man,  but  when  the  day  before  you  have 
robbed  him  with  violence,  may  there  not  be 
methods  whereby  he  may  make  you  acutely  un- 
comfortable? Suppose,  for  instance,  he  put  the 
matter  into  the  hands  of  the  police?  Suppose  he 
went  to  Bow  Street  and  obtained  a  warrant  for  my 
arrest  on  a  charge  of  felony?  I  saw  my  brother 
driving  up  in  a  cab  to  bail  me  out.  I  could  even 
hear  him  explaining  to  the  inspector  that  I  must 
not  be  considered  responsible  for  my  strange  be- 
havior. What  course  should  I  take  under  these 
circumstances?  Should  I 


AN    ANGRY    FATHER 

"  Your  bath  is  ready,  sir." 

"  Yes,  yes." 

Should  I  tell  the  whole  truth,  explain  the  exact 
circumstances?  A  British  jury  would  hardly  con- 
vict when  they  heard  my  story.  But  then  there 
was  poor  Mabel  to  consider.  How  would  the 
typical  hero  of  romance  act  under  these  trying  cir- 
cumstances? Would  he  refuse  to  speak?  I  saw 
myself  standing  in  the  dock,  with  folded  arms  and 
a  haggard,  worn  face.  I  even  began  to  prepare 
pathetic  little  speeches.  "  I  may  not  speak !  Do 
not  press  me!  But  before  Heaven,  I  am  inno- 
cent!" The  judge  on  the  bench  would  implore 
me  to  clear  myself;  my  counsel  would  burst  into 
bitter  tears ;  the  orchestra  would  sound  a  deep,  sad 
note;  the  limelight  would  play  about  my  solitary, 
tragic  figure ;  and  then  the  judge  would  assume  his 
black  cap ;  and  then — and  then,  just  in  the  nick  of 
time,  Mabel  would  rush  on  the  scene.  "  He  is 
innocent !  I  swear  it !  "  And  I  should  be  im- 
mediately released  amidst  plaudits. 

"  It  is  ten  o'clock,  sir." 

I  must  have  fallen  asleep.  "  Yes,  yes ;  I  am 
getting  up."  I  put  one  leg  out  of  bed.  Certainly, 
if  Trefusis  wanted  to  cause  mischief,  he  could  do 
so  by  employing  the  police.  The  whole  story 
would  then  have  to  be  made  public,  for,  once  fully 
[93] 


THE   TRIFLER 

awake,  the  desire  to  play  an  heroic  part  vanished. 
But,  in  that  case,  Trefusis'  dirty  tricks  would  be 
exposed  to  public  criticism  and  condemnation. 
Would  he  be  prepared  to  face  the  social  disgrace  ? 
No,  I  knew  he  would  not.  He  attached  far  too 
great  a  value  to  his  position  in  society.  On  con- 
sideration, I  was  convinced  he  would  take  no  steps 
likely  to  lead  to  a  public  exposure. 

I  was  safe  enough  from  a  criminal  charge. 
Had  I  any  "  weak  spot "  on  which  he  could 
fasten?  I  do  not  pretend  to  be  better  than  my 
fellows,  but  the  world  regards  leniently  the  pecca- 
dilloes of  the  average  man.  On  the  whole,  I  was 
satisfied  my  armor  of  defense  was  without  any 
serious  flaw. 

But  what  about  that  young  ass,  Gilbert  Telby? 
It  was  more  than  probable  that  he  would  tell  his 
father  and  sister  that  he  recognized  me  as  one  of 
the  "  burglars  "  he  had  confronted  the  night  be- 
fore. And,  oh,  what  would  Molly  think  ?  How 
shocked  she  would  be!  And  then  Mabel  had 
decided  I  was  to  marry  her!  What  well-con- 
ducted girl  would  marry  a  criminal  ?  It  was  really 
very  annoying  and  upsetting.  However,  that  was 
no  reason  why  I  should  lie  in  bed  any  longer. 

In  my  bath,  another  thought  struck  me.  Sup- 
pose Mr.  Telby,  overwhelmed  by  his  son's  disclos- 
[94] 


AN    ANGRY    FATHER 

ures,  rushed  around  to  see  my  brother  to  tell  him 
the  awful  story  of  my  crime?  How  upset  Mabel 
would  be!  And  she  would  probably  upbraid  me 
bitterly  for  mismanaging  the  affair.  I  sponged  my 
head  with  cold  water,  conveniently  at  hand,  and  sat 
and  pondered. 

The  best  course,  I  decided,  was  to  call  on  Mr. 
Telby  and  find  out  what  his  attitude  was  towards 
me.  If  Gilbert  had  "  blabbed,"  and  I  gathered 
Mr.  Telby  knew  the  worst,  I  would  confide  in  him 
to  a  limited  extent  under  the  seal  of  secrecy.  If  he 
knew  nothing,  I  would  get  hold  of  his  son,  and  find 
some  way  to  make  him  keep  his  own  counsel. 
Having  come  to  this  conclusion,  I  dressed  leisurely 
and  ate  a  hearty,  if  belated,  breakfast. 

Mr.  Telby  was,  as  I  knew,  staying  at  the  Hotel 
Cecil.  I  made  my  way  there  and  sent  up  my  name. 
After  a  considerable  interval  I  was  asked  to  step 
upstairs,  and  was  finally  ushered  into  Mr.  Telby's 
presence.  As  soon  as  I  saw  his  face  I  knew  that 
Gilbert  had  told  him  everything.  I  suppose  it  is 
disconcerting  to  find  your  chairman  is  a  polite 
burglar.  At  the  side  of  the  red-faced  father  was 
his  pale-faced  son,  quivering  all  over  with  sup- 
pressed excitement. 

"  I  have  called,"  I  said  smoothly,  to  break  the 
awkward  silence,  "  to  talk  over  our  plan  of  cam- 

[95] 


THE   TRIFLER 

paign.  There  are  so  many  things  on  which  I 
had  no  opportunity  of  speaking  to  you  last 
night." 

"  Quite  so,"  boomed  Mr.  Telby.  He  looked 
uneasily  at  his  son.  "  I  am  sure  I  should  be  de- 
lighted, but — "  he  glanced  at  his  watch,  "  as  a  mat- 
ter of  fact " 

"  The  time  is  not  convenient?  "  I  interposed. 
"  Some  other  time,  then.  The  matter  is  not  press- 
ing." 

He  hummed  and  hesitated,  commencing  dis- 
jointed sentences  and  then  breaking  off.  I  under- 
stood the  predicament  he  was  in.  As  an  honest  and 
respectable  man  he  did  not  care  to  associate  him- 
self with  a  person  of  burglarious  tendencies.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  Trewint  influence  would  be  a 
potent  factor  at  the  coming  election,  and  he  was 
not  altogether  prepared  to  sacrifice  it.  He  was 
facing  the  problem  which  has  troubled  good  men 
from  the  beginning — how  far  one  is  justified  in 
communing  with  the  mammon  of  unrighteousness 
for  the  sake  of  ulterior  good.  I  had  it  in  my  heart 
to  pity  him.  At  any  rate,  I  would  put  an  end  to 
his  suspense  by  introducing  the  subject.  I  turned 
to  Gilbert. 

"  I  hope  you  are  none  the  worse  for  your  experi- 
ences of  yesterday?" 

[96] 


AN    ANGRY    FATHER 

They  both  gasped  at  my  boldness.  The  young 
man  receded  a  step. 

"  You  allude,"  replied  his  father,  choking,  "  to 
the  audacious  robbery  at  which  my  son  surprised 
the — the  participators  ?  " 

I  nodded  pleasantly. 

"  My  son  is  none  the  worse — none  the  worse,  at 
all,  thank  you." 

"  Have  you  any  news?  " 

"  I  am  not  sure."  He  straightened  himself.  "  I 
am  expecting  every  moment  a  call  from  my  son's 
friend,  Mr.  Trefusis.  He  has  been  good  enough 
to  promise  to  call  at  my  request,  as  I  am  anxious  to 
obtain  certain  details  from  his  own  lips." 

"  Oh,  indeed."  I  smiled  rather  forcedly.  It 
was  tiresome  that  Trefusis  should  be  calling  just  at 
that  time.  But  should  I  go,  or  should  I  stay? 
Their  eyes  were  on  me,  and  I  felt  they  expected  me 
to  make  a  bolt  for  the  door. 

"  I  expect  him  every  moment,"  repeated  Mr. 
Telby.  I  think  he  wished  to  give  me  a  chance  to 
escape.  Perhaps  he  wanted  to  avoid  a  scandal  in 
his  rooms.  To  have  your  prospective  chair- 
man arrested  in  your  own  apartments  is  an 
awkward  commencement  of  a  contested  elec- 
tion. 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  him,"  I  replied,  with 
[97] 


THE   TRIFLER 

assumed  heartiness.  "  He  is  an  old  acquaintance 
of  mine.  We  were  at  Oxford  together." 

"  You — you  know  him?  "  asked  Mr.  Telby  in 
great  surprise. 

"  Oh,  yes;  very  well." 

Mr.  Telby's  mouth  opened,  and  he  looked  at  his 
son,  who  sat  down  rather  suddenly  on  a  plush-cov- 
ered chair. 

"  Then,  in  that  case — surely — I  cannot  under- 
stand  "  He  stopped  dead. 

"  You  are  evidently  perturbed  about  some- 
thing?"  I  said.  "  I  wonder  if  I  can  help  you?  " 

He  pointed  his  finger  at  his  son.  "  The  fact  is 
—he " 

"  I  am  quite  sure !  "  burst  in  the  young  man. 
"  And  Trefusis  will  corroborate  it." 

"  Corroborate  what?"  I  asked. 

"  Silence,  Gilbert,"  boomed  his  father.  "  Will 
you  insult  my  friend — if  I  may  call  you  so,  Mr. 
Trewint? — in  my  rooms?  " 

"  I  am  sure  Gilbert  doesn't  want  to  insult  me,"  I 
interposed. 

"  As  sure  as  I  sit  here "  began  Gilbert. 

"  Be  quiet!  "  cried  Mr.  Telby. 

"  It  is  all  very  fine "  said  the  young  man 

sullenly,  but  his  father  interrupted  him  hastily. 

"  If  Mr.  Trewint  knows  Mr.  Trefusis,  it  is  evi- 
[98] 


AN    ANGRY    FATHER 

dent  you  have  made  a  stupid  mistake.  You  told 
me  yourself  that  Trefusis  had  never  seen  the  man 
before." 

"  I  am  certain  I  am  not  making  a  mistake,"  re- 
joined Gilbert. 

Mr.  Gilbert  turned  to  me.  "  Pray  forgive  the 
silly  lad,"  he  said  effusively.  "  He  has  been  mis- 
led by  some  trifling  likeness,  and  actually  avers — 
the  very  thought  makes  me  laugh! — that  you 
were — really,  I  cannot  put  his  nonsense  into 
words." 

The  "  silly  lad  "  was  exceedingly  red  in  the  face. 
He  kicked  viciously  the  leg  of  a  chair. 

"  I  wish,"  he  exclaimed,  "  that  Trefusis  were 
here." 

As  if  in  response  to  his  desire,  the  door  opened 
and  a  servant  entered  to  say  that  Mr.  Trefusis  was 
waiting  below.  Now  it  was  my  turn  to  feel  rather 
uncomfortable.  I  buttoned  my  coat  and  drew  a 
long  breath. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  I  remarked,  "  I  don't  wholly 
understand  what  is  disturbing  you,  but,  as  you 
have  another  visitor,  perhaps  I  oughtn't  to  detain 
you.  If  you  will  allow  me,  I  will  call  later." 

"What  did  I  say?"  shouted  Gilbert  trium- 
phantly; "  I  knew  he  would  not  face  Trefusis." 

I  bit  my  lip.  "  Really,  Mr.  Telby,  your  son 
[99] 


THE   TRIFLER 

has  quaint  manners.  I  have  no  objection  to  face 
Mr.  Trefusis — a  hundred  Mr.  Trefusis's  for  that 
matter.  Why  cannot  he  be  shown  up?" 

"  Why,  certainly,"  said  Mr.  Telby,  fussy  and 
unhappy.  "Why  not,  indeed?  A  very  sensible 
suggestion,  and  one  that  does  you  great  credit. 
Personally,  I  don't  regard  seriously  Gilbert's  ridicu- 
lous suspicions.  The  very  thought  is  absurd. 
And  if  he  has  been  making  a  mistake,  I  shall  most 
certainly  reduce  his  allowance." 

"  Please  remember,"  I  said,  with  great  affability, 
"  that  I  am  still  in  the  dark,  but  I  dare  say  a  very 
satisfactory  explanation  will  be  forthcoming 
shortly.  Won't  Mr.  Trefusis  be  getting  tired  of 
waiting?" 

Acting  on  the  hint,  Mr.  Telby  told  his  servant 
to  show  Trefusis  in.  I  tried  to  appear  uncon- 
cerned. Mr.  Telby  walked  with  quick,  jerky  steps 
between  the  door  and  the  fireplace.  Young  Telby, 
sitting  on  a  chair  against  the  wall,  watched  the 
door.  I  sauntered  to  the  window. 

Trefusis  came  in  with  his  quick,  buoyant  step, 
and  advanced  with  outstretched  hand  towards  Mr. 
Telby.  He  was  shaking  hands  vigorously  when  I 
half  turned  towards  him,  and  our  eyes  met.  He 
stopped  dead,  and  his  face  changed  slightly.  I 
came  slowly  forward. 

[100] 


'He  stopped  dead,  and  his  face  changed  slightly. 


AN    ANGRY    FATHER 

"  Why,  Trefusis,"  I  said,  "  this  is  an  unexpected 
pleasure !  " 

"  Yes,  indeed."  His  eyes  were  on  mine,  and  he 
seemed  on  the  alert.  It  would  be  wise  to  give  him 
the  cue.  It  was  for  him  to  take  it  or  reject  it. 

"  I  don't  think,"  I  said,  holding  out  my  hand — 
not  willingly,  but  it  was  necessary — "  we  have  met 
for  over  a  year." 

For  a  single  moment  he  hesitated.  Then  he 
touched  my  hand. 

"  Quite  that,  I  think,"  he  said. 

I  drew  a  breath  of  relief.  There  was  to  be  no 
open  scandal.  The  battle,  if  any,  was  to  be  fought 
on  another  field. 

Mr.  Telby  turned  to  his  son.  "  Now,  Gilbert," 
he  said,  "  you  see  what  an  imbecile  you  have  been 
making  of  yourself !  " 

"What  has  Gilbert  been  up  to?"  asked  Tre- 
fusis in  his  careless  way.  He  was  standing  near 
Gilbert,  and  slipped  his  hand  through  the  lad's 
arm. 

Mr.  Telby  laughed  loudly,  but  with  little  mirth. 
"  He  has  been  trying  to  convince  me  that  Mr.  Tre- 
wint  was  one  of  the  two  thieves  that  robbed  you 
Jast  night." 

Trefusis'  glance  met  mine  squarely.  He  gave  a 
low,  amused  laugh.  "  I  am  afraid  Gilbert  is  3 
[KM] 


THE   TRIFLER 

bit  of  a  donkey,"  he  said,  and  shook  him  gently  by 
the  arm.  "  Of  course  the  staircase  is  rather  dark. 
Besides,  I  do  think,"  he  added  judicially,  "  there  is 
some  resemblance,  but  my  visitor  was  of  a  heavier 
make,  and,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  he  had  a  slight 
mustache." 

"  No,"  said  Gilbert  emphatically,  "  I  am  sure 
he  had  not." 

"  Perhaps  I  am  wrong,"  replied  Trefusis  indul- 
gently, "  but,  in  any  case,  Trewint  isn't  the 
man.  Bless  my  soul,  I've  known  Trewint  for 
years." 

"The  suggestion  was  highly  absurd,"  replied 
Mr.  Telby.  "  And  Gilbert  owes  Mr.  Trewint  a 
very  humble  apology." 

"  Oh,  nonsense,"  I  interposed  hastily.  "  Tre- 
fusis says  there  was  a  resemblance,  so  Gilbert  is  not 
so  much  to  blame,  after  all.  I  think  we  can  fairly 
consider  the  matter  at  an  end." 

"  Gilbert  must  express  his  regret,"  returned  his 
father,  eying  him  sternly. 

"  No,  no,"  I  exclaimed.  I  was  sorry  for  the  lad, 
who  stood  fidgeting  on  one  leg,  very  red  and  con- 
fused. 

"  Gilbert  I  "  His  father  regarded  him  with 
rising  anger. 

"  Please,  please "  I  interjected. 

[  102] 


AN    ANGRY    FATHER 

Gilbert  shifted  from  one  leg  to  the  other.  "  Of 
course,"  he  began  at  length,  "  if  I  am  making  a 
mistake,  I — I  am  sorry,  but  all  the  same,  I  can 
swear " 

His  father  exploded.  "  How  dare  you  persist 
in  your  cock-and-bull  story !  "  he  cried  furiously. 
"  Leave  the  room  at  once,  and  do  not  let  me  see 
your  face  till  you  can  tell  me  you  have  expressed 
your  utmost  contrition  to  a  gentleman,  a  friend,  of 
the  highest  standing,  who  is  kindly  putting  himself 
about  to  assist  me.  How  dare  you,  sir !  "  He 
spluttered  with  anger,  and  waved  a  clenched  fist  at 
his  son's  face. 

"  Pray,  pray "  I  implored.  I  was  feeling 

most  uncomfortable.  I  had  embarked  on  a  course 
of  deceit,  and  poor  young  Gilbert  was  paying  the 
penalty. 

His  father  waved  me  aside.  "  Your  intercession 
does  you  every  credit,"  he  said,  "  but  this  is  a  mat- 
ter between  my  son  and  myself.  I  regret  to  see 
such  pig-headed  obstinacy  in  one  in  whom,  from  his 
bringing  up,  I  am  entitled  to  expect  better  things. 
I  apologize  for  him,  I  apologize  most  humbly. 
And  before  long,  I  can  promise  you,  he  will  apolo- 
gize for  himself."  Then  he  turned  to  the  unforttu- 
nate  lad.  "  Did  you  not  hear  me  bid  you  leave  the 
room?  Shall  I  have  to  put  you  out?  By  Heaven, 


THE   TRIFLER 

if  you  were  a  few  years  younger  I  would  thrash 
you.  As  it  is,  get  out  of  my  sight !  " 

"  I  can  only  say  what  I  believe,"  began  Gilbert 
4 '  If  I  am  wrong " 

"  If  you  are  wrong!  "  bellowed  his  father,  who 
had  worked  himself  into  a  very  pretty  passion. 
He  rushed  at  the  young  man,  and  began  to  hustle 
him  towards  the  door.  Gilbert  seemed  inclined  to 
resent  this  cavalier  treatment,  and  there  was  every 
prospect  of  an  unseemly  struggle  between  father 
and  son,  when  Trefusis,  who  was  never  lacking  in 
tact,  intervened. 

"  Come  with  me,  Gilbert,"  he  said  soothingly, 
"  and  don't  be  a  duffer."  He  pulled  him  gently 
towards  the  door.  Gilbert,  with  his  head  high  in 
the  air,  suffered  himself  to  be  led  away. 

When  the  door  closed,  Mr.  Telby  wiped  his 
brow  with  his  handkerchief.  I  stood  in  uncom- 
fortable silence,  half  inclined  to  unbosom  myself 
of  the  whole  stupid  story,  in  order  to  put  things 
right  between  father  and  son,  but  uneasily  con- 
scious that  by  so  doing  I  should  be  sacrificing  an- 
other's interest. 

"  I  need  not  say,"  said  Mr.  Telby,  "  how  much 

I  regret  this  unfortunate  stubbornness  on  Gilbert's 

part.    But  I  can  promise  you  he  will  make  proper 

reparation.     And  I  do  trust,"  he  added  quickly, 

[104] 


AN    ANGRY    FATHER 

"  you  will  not  allow  his  folly  to  make  any  dif- 
ference between  us." 

"  In  what  way  ? "  I  asked,  not  catching  his 
drift. 

"  I  trust  I  may  still  hope  for  your  kind  co-opera- 
tion during  the  election." 

"  Why,  of  course,"  I  replied,  annoyed  by  the 
man's  selfishness.  "  And  I  shall  esteem  it  a  very 
great  favor  if  you  will  not  allude  to  the  matter 
again." 

"  I  can  understand  that  the  subject  is  an  un- 
pleasing  one,  and  I  can  only  express  my  heart- 
felt  " 

"  I   mean  to  your  son,"   I   interposed  curtly. 

"  Pray  let  the  matter  rest  from  this  moment. 
Believe  me,  Gilbert  may  not  be  so  much  to  blame 

as  you  think.  I  mean "  for  he  had  looked  up 

quickly,  "  there  really  may  have  been  a  striking 
likeness  between  the  man  and  myself." 

"  Mr.  Trefusis  said  the  likeness  was  one  of  the 
slightest." 

«  Yes,  but " 

"  I  will,  of  course,  tell  my  son  you  have  inter- 
ceded for  him,  and  that  in  itself  should  bring  him 
to  a  proper  sense  of  shame." 

"  I  assure  you  I  do  not  bear  the  slightest  grudge 
against  Gilbert.  I  like  him  for  sticking  to  his  con- 
[105] 


THE    TRIFLER 

victions.  If  you  will  promise  you  will  not  speak  to 
him  on  the  matter  again,  I  shall  go  away  ever  so 
much  easier  in  my  mind." 

He  set  his  jaw — a  square,  determined  jaw.  "  In 
bringing  up  my  children,"  he  answered,  in  his  sen- 
tentious style,  "  I  have  always  endeavored  to  in- 
culcate those  high  moral  principles  to  which,  if  I 
may  say  so,  I  owe  my  present  position  in  life.  I 
cannot  surrender  the  duty  I  owe  to  my  children, 
even  at  the  request  of  one  I  esteem  so  highly  as 
yourself." 

"  But,  you  know,  Gilbert  isn't  a  child,"  said  I 
tactlessly. 

He  frowned.  "  He  is  not  twenty  yet,  and,  in 
any  case,  his  age  makes  his  offense  more  glaring. 
Can  anything  be  more  shameful  than  to  wantonly 
slander  one  who  has  promised  to  render  me  the 
greatest  service  ?  " 

I  took  up  my  hat  and  stick.  It  was  no  use  talk- 
ing. His  anger  against  his  son  was  not  so  much 
because  of  an  injury  to  me,  but  from  fear  of  a  loss 
to  himself. 

"Well,  good-by,  Mr.  Telby,"  I  said  rather 
curtly. 

"  Good-by,  Mr.  Trewint.  I  think  I  can  promise 
that  my  son  will  call  on  you  shortly." 

"Oh,  please  don't.  But,  of  course,  I  shall 
[106] 


AN    ANGRY    FATHER 

be  delighted  to  see  Gilbert  if  he  cares  to 
call." 

"  He  will  call  very  shortly,"  said  Mr.  Telby, 
with  determination. 

"  Please  don't  force  him  to  do  so,"  was  my  last 
plea,  as  I  left  the  room  and  hastened  -down  the 
staircase. 

"  He  will  do  so  from  his  own  desire,  his  innate 
knowledge  of  what  is  right  and  proper,"  called  out 
Mr.  Telby  over  the  bannisters. 


[107] 


CHAPTER  VII 

HUMBLE    PIE 

THE  by-election  atTrewint  had  been  caused 
by  the  elevation  to  the  bench  of  Mr.  H.  T. 
Renton,  K.  C.  The  Radical  papers  had 
been  pleased  to  designate  the  appointment  a  "  po- 
litical job,"  simply  because  the  new-made  judge 
was  more  renowned  for  unobtrusive  services  to  his 
party  than  for  eminence  in  the  forensic  arena.  I 
knew  Renton  well,  and  a  few  days  after  my  inter- 
view with  Mr.  Telby,  seeing  him  dozing  in  an  arm- 
chair at  the  club,  I  thought  it  a  favorable  oppor- 
tunity of  getting  his  views  on  the  election  his  resig- 
nation had  occasioned.  One  of  the  weekly  papers 
had  headed  an  article  on  his  appointment  with 
"  Who  is  Mr.  Renton?  "  With  this  in  my  hand, 
I  approached  him. 

"  Excuse  my  troubling  you,"  I  said  politely, 
"  but  would  you  mind  telling  me  who  you  are?  " 

He  took  the  paper  I  held  towards  him,  scanned 
the  article,  and  tossed  it  aside.  Then  he  solemnly 
winked.  "  One  of  His  Majesty's  judges,"  he 
made  answer. 

[  109.  ] 


THE    TRIFLER 

I  sank  into  an  armchair  beside  him.  "  I  wish 
you  would  give  me  some  information  about  things 
at  Trewint,"  I  said.  "  Who  are  the  proper  people 
to  kow-tow  to  ?  To  whom  may  one  be  safely  rude  ? 
Pray  give  me  some  local  coloring  for  my 
speeches." 

He  roused  himself  from  his  lethargy.  "  Do 
you  ask  me  for  information;  you,  a  Trewint? 
Hasn't  your  family  its  feudal  domain  in  the  local- 
ity? Aren't  half  the  ignorant  populace  still  labor- 
ing in  the  condition  of  serfdom?  Isn't  every  Tre- 
wint an  elemental  god  ?  " 

"  You  don't  say  so !  " 

He  considered.  "  No,"  he  answered,  "  I  don't. 
When  my  connection  with  Trewint  began,  it  was 
to  all  intents  and  purposes  a  pocket  borough.  But 
the  dawn  of  enlightenment  has  been  spreading 
rapidly.  The  increase  of  manufactories  has  de- 
stroyed the  rural  simplicity  of  the  place.  People 
now  hold  meetings  to  protest  against  vaccination. 
Every  chapel  has  its  literary  society.  The  day  of 
the  Trewints  is  drawing  to  a  close." 

"  So  bad  as  all  that?    Dear,  dear !  " 

He  held  his  finger  aloft.  "  I  don't  say  the  name 
of  a  Trewint  does  not  still  act  as  a  charm.  It 
charms,  but  it  no  longer  awes." 

"  Of  course,"  I  said  mournfully,  "  if  I  cannot 
.[no] 


HUMBLE    PIE 

awe,  I  must  be  content  to  charm.  But  what  I 
want  to  know  is,  will  Telby  get  in?  " 

He  pondered  the  question.  "  If  I  stood  again, 
I  should  not  get  in.  For  a  whole  year  I  have 
stopped  subscribing  to  local  football  clubs.  Have 
you  seen  my  wife's  new  brougham?  " 

"  No,  I  haven't.    But  about  Telby  ?  " 

"  He  is  a  great  man  in  his  way.  He  owns  the 
engineering  works,  and  he  takes  the  chair  at  lit- 
erary societies,  making  assertions  which  frighten. 
He  is  a  teetotaler  and  a  Nonconformist,  and  the 
new  Trewint  has  begotten  a  love  for  Dissenters. 
Then,  he  has  the  Trewint  influence,  of  which  I  see 
you  are  to  be  the  exponent." 

"  A  feeble  exponent,"  I  said  modestly. 

"  Possibly ;  I  mean,  not  at  all.  Don't  they  know 
you  very  well,  and  love  you  very  much  ?  " 

"  Hardly,  I  fear.  I  have  only  been  at  Trewint 
twice  since  I  left  Harrow." 

"  That  may  be  so,  but  Trewint  has  grown  into  a 
sporting  town,  and  they  study  county  cricket.  You 
are  a  hero  in  Trewint;  made  of  tin,  no  doubt,  but 
still  a  hero." 

I  blushed  to  hear  I  was  famous.  "  So  you  think 
Telby  is  safe?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  think  he  is  safe,  but  I  think,  if  he 
fights  hard,  he  will  get  returned.  You  see,  the  Con- 
[in] 


THE    TRIFLER 

servatives  will  vote  for  him,  for  they  are  well 
disciplined.  And  then  he  has  his  own  personal  fol- 
lowing, which  comes  mainly  from  the  other  camp." 

"A  good  many  diverse  elements  go  to  make  up 
this  Parliamentary  area,"  I  observed  thought- 
fully. 

He  nodded.  "  Trewint  is  in  a  state  of  transi- 
tion. At  one  time  its  interest  was  mainly  agricul- 
tural. Now  it  is  becoming  a  bustling  manufactur- 
ing center.  But  the  former  interest  still  exists,  side 
by  side  with  the  later  development.  In  ten  years  or 
so  Trewint  will  be  a  Radical  stronghold.  At 
present,  Telby  has  a  chance.  It  was  good  tactics 
choosing  Telby." 

"  I  suppose  the  county  is  all  right  for  the  pres- 
ent? As  you  know,  my  brother  represents  it." 

"Oh,  yes;  that's  good  till  he  ripens  for  his 
peerage.  By  the  way,  how  is  Lady  Trewint?  I 
called  one  day  last  week,  but  she  was  indisposed." 

"  Oh,  very  much  better,  thanks.  I  suppose  you 
know  the  Telby  family.  What  do  you  think  of 
them?" 

"  Personally,  I  can't  bear  Telby,  who  bores  me 
to  distraction.  I  am  told  he  is  a  domestic  tyrant, 
and  his  children  live  in  terror  of  his  frown.  At  the 
same  time,  if  you  meet  him,  he  tires  you  with  a  list 
of  their  many  virtues,  especially  of  his  son,  of 

[112] 


HUMBLE    PIE 

whom  he  thinks  no  end.  The  girls  are  pretty,  and 
he  is  very  rich.  You  might  do  worse  than  marry 
one  of  them.  You  won't  find  a  handsomer  girl 
than  his  eldest  daughter." 

"  I  know  her,"  I  replied  laconically.  "  Very 
nice,  but  not  clever." 

"  Who  wants  a  clever  wife?  " 

"  I   am   afraid  I   am  not  a   marrying  man." 

"  We  all  say  that  till  we  meet  the  right  girl. 
However,  you  are  young  yet." 

I  rose.  "  Thanks  for  your  information  about 
Trewint  and  the  Telbys." 

"  My  advice  to  you,"  he  said,  yawning,  "  is  to 
keep  on  good  terms  with  the  Dissenting  element. 
There  is  a  young  parson — by  name  Vicars — who 
takes  a  keen  interest  in  politics,  and  is  esteemed 
no  en-d  of  a  great  man.  Try  and  get  on  his  right 
side,  and  it  will  help  you  a  lot.  He  speaks  well, 
but  is  terribly  narrow-minded.  I  have  been  told 
he  is  in  love  with  Telby's  eldest  daughter,  but 
Telby  doesn't  think  he  is  good  enough.  If  you  can 
get  Vicars  to  back  your  man,  you  will  find  it  an 
immense  assistance.  He  was  against  me  last  time, 
as  I  know  to  my  cost." 

"  If  he  was  Radical  last  election,  he  isn't  likely 
to  be  Conservative  this." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.     He  goes  for  men,  not 


THE    TRIFLER 

measures.  That's  his  crank.  His  conception  of 
the  personal  righteousness  of  the  candidate  decides 
his  vote  and  influence.  He  wants  another  Bare- 
bones'  Parliament,  I  suppose.  At  any  rate, 
he  doesn't  associate  himself  with  any  po- 
litical party,  but  holds  himself  free  to  fol- 
low the  guidance  of  his  conscience.  Now,  at 
the  last  election,  I  was  a  mere  carpet-bag- 
ger, a  lawyer  without  a  single  fad  to  cover 
my  nakedness.  I  loathed  the  anti-vivisectors 
and  the  anti-vaccinators,  and  wouldn't  read  papers 
at  their  stupid  societies.  I  never  go  to  any  church 
except  the  Established  Church,  and  that  not  often. 
Of  course,  Mr.  Vicars  did  not  like  me,  and  insisted 
emphatically  that  I  was  a  mere  political  adven- 
turer. In  fact,  the  personality  of  the  Radical  can- 
didate became  merged  in  the  personality  of  his 
champion.  It  became  a  fight  between  Vicars  and 
myself,  and  they  fight  keenly  at  Trewint.  Thank 
goodness,  I  shall  not  have  to  go  through  it 
again." 

"  Is,  this  Mr.  Vicars  ,a  young  man? " 
He  nodded.  "  As  I  said  before,  very  eloquent 
and  very  able,  but  terribly  narrow.  In  fact,  a 
crank.  Get  him  on  your  side,  and  you'll  be  all 
right.  If  he  is  against  you,  then  look  out  for  some 
nasty  knocks." 

[H4] 


HUMBLE    PIE 

"  The  chances  are,  I  suppose,  that  he  will  be 
against  us?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  Telby  goes  to  his  chapel,  is  a 
teetotaler,  believes  in  all  sorts  of  fads  and  folly.  I 
should  think  he  is  a  man  after  Vicars'  own  heart. 
But,  of  course,  there  was  the  trouble  about  the 
young  lady." 

"Was  that  anything  serious?"  I  asked  curi- 
ously. 

Renton  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  I  believe 
Vicars  was  attracted  by  the  girl,  and  the  father 
spotted  it.  I  think  he  stopped  Vicars  coming  to 
the  house.  But  I  really  don't  know  the  relation- 
ship between  them  now.  Telby  still  goes  to  the 
chapel." 

"  Is  this  Vicars  an  educated  man?  " 

"  He  went  to  Oxford.  You  went  there,  too, 
didn't  you  ?  I  should  think  he  might  have  been  a 
contemporary  of  yours." 

"  Vicars,  Vicars,"  I  repeated  meditatively.  "  Do 
you  know  his  College?  At  any  rate,  I  don't  sup- 
pose he  was  quite  the  type  of  man  I  should  know." 

"  Pie  went  in  for  athletics  a  good  deal.  Got  his 
blue — football,  I  think." 

"  By  Jove,  I  remember  a  football  Vicars.  Tall, 
dark,  with  a  slight  stoop.  Awfully  keen  on  any- 
thing he  took  up.  Is  that  the  man  ?  " 


THE    TRIFLER 

"  That's  him  to  a  T.    Then  you  know  him?  " 

I  shook  my  head  doubtfully.  "  Only  very 
slightly.  He  was  older  than  I,  a  couple  of  years  at 
least.  We  had  an  encounter  once  at  the  Union. 
He  was  on  the  side  of  the  angels,  and  I  was  on  the 
other  side.  I  remember  he  was  angry,  and  re- 
torted, rather  bitterly,  that  I  was  a  mere  trifler, 
unworthy  of  serious  consideration,  and  so  forth ; 
which  was  true  enough,  no  doubt." 

I  saw  Renton  was  getting  bored. 

"  Well,  you'll  be  able  to  renew  the  Homeric 
contests  of  your  youth,"  he  said.  "  Just  pass  me 
the  Spectator,  will  you?  I  am  sure  it  is  too 
well-bred  to  confess  it  doesn't  know  who  I 
am." 

The  time  was  drawing  near  when  the  campaign 
at  Trewint  would  open  in  earnest.  The  official 
notification  of  Renton's  appointment  had  appeared 
in  the  papers,  and  the  respective  party  organiza- 
tions at  Trewint  were  girding  themselves  for  the 
fray.  The  Liberal  candidate  was  a  local  solicitor, 
not  nearly  so  wealthy  as  Telby,  nor,  of  course,  an 
employer  of  labor,  but  a  man  whose  antecedents 
were  respectable  and  whose  reputation  for  integ- 
rity was  high.  His  views  on  the  side  issues  of 
the  day  were  still  unknown,  but  it  was  under- 
stood that  the  inner  circle  of  the  Radical  Associa,- 
[116] 


HUMBLE    PIE 

tion  were  busily  engaged  in  framing  them,  but  that 
for  tactical  reasons,  they  would  not  be  published 
until  the  last  moment,  so  as  to  give  latitude  for 
revision  and  correction.  Political  feeling  in  the 
country  was  high,  and  the  press  had  already  given 
indications  that  considerable  attention  would  be 
directed  to  the  struggle. 

I  had  not  heard  from  Mr.  Telby  or  his  son 
since  our  unpleasant  interview  some  days  before. 
I  hoped  that,  on  consideration,  Mr.  Telby  had 
given  up  his  intention  of  compelling  his  son  to 
apologize  to  me  for  a  mistake  which  the  poor 
fellow  had  never  made.  Unfortunately,  I  was 
wrong.  The  delay,  it  turned  out,  was  due  to 
Gilbert's  recalcitrance.  One  day,  on  returning  to 
my  chambers,  I  found  the  young  man  awaiting 
me.  When  I  entered  the  room  he  was  standing 
in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  with  a  flushed  face, 
evidently  ill  at  ease. 

I  greeted  him  cordially.  "  This  is  very  kind  I  " 
I  exclaimed.  "  Now,  -do  sit  down."  And  I 
bustled  about  with  great  energy  in  my  endeavor  to 
lessen  the  embarrassment  which  I  shared  equally 
with  my  visitor. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  "  I  won't  sit  down.  I 
only  called  for  a  moment " 

"  But  you  must  sit  down."     I  half  hustled  him 


THE    TRIFLER 

into  an  armchair.  "  And  let  me  offer  you  a 
cigar." 

He  declined  my  proffered  gift,  sitting  on  the 
edge  of  his  chair,  gloomily  contemplating  the  toes 
of  his  patent-leather  boots. 

"How  is  your  father?"  I  asked,  endeavoring 
to  keep  up  a  brisk  conversation. 

"  All  right,"  he  answered  shortly,  and  his  gloom 
visibly  deepened. 

I  soon  ran  through  my  stock  of  available  re- 
marks, but  the  fear  of  silence  oppressed  me. 

"  It  is  kind  of  you  to  call  and  see  me,"  I  re- 
peated. 

"  My  father  made  me." 

I  tried  to  indicate  by  my  manner  that  I  regarded 
his  reply  as  humorously  intended.  "  You  have  no 
idea  how  glad  I  am  when  men  look  me  up,"  I 
continued.  "  Living  alone,  one  sometimes 
feels " 

"  I've  led  a  dog's  life  since  I  saw  you  last,"  he 
burst  out.  "  I  don't  suppose  you  can  imagine 
what  a  brute  the  governor  can  be  when  he  likes. 
You  see  him  all  milk  and  sugar " 

"  I  hope  it  isn't  in  reference  to  that  stupid 
affair "  I  began. 

"  Yes,  it  is,"  he  replied  savagely.  "  He  said 
I  must  apologize  to  you.  I  told  him  I  wouldn't, 
[118] 


HUMBLE    PIE 

that  nothing  in  the  world  would  make  me  do  so. 
For  a  week  we  have  been  going  it  hammer  and 
tongs.  Life  hasn't  been  worth  living.  For  two 
pins  I  would  cut  it  and  enlist." 

"  I  am  sorry,  so  very  sorry,"  I  responded.  "  I 
am  sure  you  recognize  that  it  was  far  from  my 
desire  that  you  should  apologize  to  me." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  said  hastily.  "  I  know  quite  well 
you  don't  care  a  brass  farthing  whether  I  beg  your 
pardon  or  not.  Why  should  you?  But  the 
governor  fears  you  are  offended;  that  if  I  don't 
come  crawling  to  you  on  all-fours  like  a  whipped 
dog,  he  won't  have  the  Trewint  influence  at  that 
confounded  election." 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  I  exclaimed,  "  do,  for 
Heaven's  sake,  let  us  agree  between  ourselves  to 
consider  the  matter  at  an  end.  We  will  not  say  a 
single  word  more  about  it." 

He  frowned  moodily.  "  I  told  him  I  wouldn't 
apologize,  but — but " 

"  You  were  quite  right,"  I  rejoined  heartily. 
"  I  shall  think  very  little  of  you  if  you  give 
way." 

"  But  I  have  given  way,"  he  replied,  flushing. 
"What's  the  good  of  living  the  life  of  a  dog? 
And  he's  cut  off  my  allowance.  As  if  a  man  can 
live  in  town  without  money !  I've  had  to  borrow 


THE    TRIFLER 

from  my  sisters  and — and — my  friends.  It's 
beastly !  So  I've  come  to  beg  your  pardon." 

"  My  dear  boy,"  I  protested,  appalled  at  the 
prospect,  "  please  don't  do  anything  so  absurd. 
If  you  only  knew  how  uncomfortable  you  make 
me  feel,  you  really  wouldn't  have  the  heart  to 
go  on." 

"  I've  promised  the  governor;  we  fought  it  out 

for  a  whole  week,  and  I  gave  in.  So  I  shall  have 
.  11 

"  We  will  take  it  as  spoken,"  I  said  beseechingly. 
"  Don't  press  the  matter  further,  there's  a  dear, 
kind  lad." 

He  put  his  hand  in  his  breast-pocket  and  pro- 
duced a  sheet  of  note-paper.  "  The  governor," 
he  said  shamefacedly,  "  has  written  down  what  I 
have  to  say.  If  you  don't  mind,  I'll  just  read  it." 

I  sat  with  my  head  in  my  hands.  If  Mr.  Telby 
had  known  how  I  hated  him  at  that  moment,  it 
would  have  disturbed  even  his  smug  compla- 
cency. 

Gilbert  smoothed  out  the  paper,  and  began  to 
read  in  a  rapid  whisper,  " '  I  apologize  to  you, 
Mr.  Trewint,  very  humbly,  for  having  made  such 
a  ridiculous  accusation  about  you.  It  was  very 
foolish  and  wrong  of  me,  and  I  ought  to  be  pun- 
ished severely.  I  sincerely  beg  your  pardon  and 
[  120] 


HUMBLE    PIE 

trust  you  will  forgive  me.'  There  I "  He  tore 
the  paper  savagely  across,  set  his  teeth,  and 
glowered  at  me. 

I  drew  a  long  breath.  "  Well,  at  any  rate,  it's 
over.  You've  done  what  your  father  required.  I 
suppose  now  we  can  consider  the  matter  at  an  end." 

"There's  one  thing,  also.  My  father  says  I 
am  to  ask  you  to  write  him  a  line  saying  that  I 
have — have  done  what  he  wanted.  He  says  that 
after  my  conduct  he  cannot  trust  me  to — tell  him 
the  truth." 

I  sprang  out  of  my  chair.  "  My  dear  fellow, 
what  a  shame  to  treat  you  like  this  I  It  is  I  who 
owe  you  an  apology,  and  I  do  beg  you  to  forgive 
me  for  causing  you  this  humiliation.  I  can't  tell 
you  how  sorry  I  am,  or  how  distressed  I  feel  I  If 
I  can  do  anything  in  the  whole  world  to  prove  this 
to  you " 

"  You  can  write  that  letter." 

"  Yes,  yes ;  I  will  write  anything  you  like,  but  it 
is  too  bad  of  your  father  to  place  us  both  in  this 
miserable  position." 

"If  you  will  write  that  letter  now,"  he  replied, 
with  averted  head,  "  I  will  take  it  away  with  me." 

"  I  will  write  it,  of  course."  Full  of  compunc- 
tion, I  sat  down  at  my  writing  table  and  drew 
paper  towards  me.  "  What  am  I  to  say?  " 

[121] 


THE    TRIFLER 

"  It  will  be  enough  if  you  say  I  called  and 
apologised  for  my  mistake." 

"For  your  mistake?"  I  hesitated,  and  then 
threw  down  my  pen.  "  I  don't  care  to  use  that 
phrase." 

He  sighed  wearily.  "  It  really  doesn't  matter 
how  it  is  put." 

I  thought  a  moment,  and  then  I  scribbled  some 
words.  "  Will  this  do  ?  "  I  asked.  "  '  Dear  Mr. 
Telby,  I  have  seen  your  son  Gilbert,  who  has 
apologized  fully.  I  am  sorry  he  thought  it 
necessary  to  do  so.  I  trust  the  incident  may 
now  be  considered  finally  closed.' ' 

He  nodded.  "Thank  you,  it  will  do  very 
well." 

I  folded  it  and  put  it  in  an  envelope,  which  I 
addressed.  Then  I  turned  towards  him. 

"  Gilbert,"  I  said  rather  impulsively,  "  now  this 
stupid  affair  is  at  an  end,  will  you  shake  hands?  " 

He  had  sunk  back  into  his  armchair  with  an 
expression  of  dejection  on  his  face.  He  did  not 
answer. 

"  You  don't  care  to?  "  I  said  sadly.  "  Well, 
it  can't  be  helped." 

He  roused  himself  suddenly,  with  a  bitter  laugh. 
"  Why  shouldn't  I  shake  hands  with  you?    You're 
a  better  man  than  I  am,  at  any  rate.     I  am  a  poor, 
[122] 


HUMBLE    PIE 

miserable,  weak-spirited  wretch,  humbly  apologiz- 
ing when  I  know  I  have  made  no  mistake.  If  I 
haven't  robbed  anyone,  I  dare  say  it's  because  I 
have  never  been  tempted.  Oh,  yes;  I'll  shake 
hands,  if  you  like." 

I  was  disconcerted  to  find  he  considered  me  fit 
to  shake  hands  with  simply  because  he  felt  him- 
self morally  degraded.  For  some  moments  I  re- 
garded him  in  silence,  feeling  exactly  as  if  some- 
one had  slapped  my  face. 

"  You  still  believe  I  am  the  man  you  met  on  the 
staircase  the  other  night?  " 

He  looked  up  quickly.  "  I  suppose  if  I  say  so 
you  will  tell  my  father?  " 

"  No,  I  won't.     What  do  you  take  me  for?  " 

"  Do  you  know  who  opened  the  door  for  me 
when  I  called  this  afternoon?  " 

"  I  don't  understand." 

"  It  was  Trefusis'  servant — late  servant,  I  sup- 
pose I  should  say." 

For  the  second  time  I  experienced  a  moral 
shock. 

"  Why  don't  you  go  and  tell  your  father  that?  " 
I  asked  at  length. 

"  What's  the  good?  I  suppose  Trefusis  would 
deny  point-blank  that  the  fellow  had  ever  been  in 
his  service.  Besides,  I  haven't  the  least  desire  to 


THE    TRIFLER 

get    you  into  trouble.     But  I  do  object  to  being 
forced  to  apologize  to  a  man  I  know  is  a  thief." 

I  am  afraid  I  swore  under  my  breath.     "  Why 
did  you  apologize,  then?  "  I  asked. 

"I  had  to."  The  dull,  red  flush  began  to 
creep  over  his  temples  again. 

"  It  has  been  hard  lines  on  you,"  I  returned 
meditatively.  "  But,  Trefusis — isn't  he  a  friend 
of  yours  ?  " 

He  nodded. 

"  Why,  then,  do  you  suppose  he  has  also  con- 
spired to  injure  you?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  To  spare  your  family,  very 
likely." 

"  I  don't  think  Trefusis  is  anxious  to  do  that," 
I  said,  with  a  short  laugh.  "  I  say,  young  man, 
how  old  are  you  ?  " 

"  I'm  nearly  twenty." 

II  If  you  will  forgive  me  saying  so,  you  are  not 
very  intelligent  for  your  age." 

"  I'm  not  in  a  position  to  resent  any  insults,"  he 
replied  dejectedly. 

"  I  don't  want  to  insult  you,"  I  returned,  "  but 
I  do  want  you  to  think.  Assuming  I  was  present 
on  the  night  in  question,  don't  you  consider  my 
presence  and  my  actions  can  be  explained  otherwise 
than  as  you  explain  them — as  a  regular  thief  making 


HUMBLE    PIE 

off  with  silver  spoons  ?  You  know  about  me  and 
my  family.  Is  it  probable — is  it  even  possible — 
that  I  would  act  from  the  motives  you  impute  to  me? 
Don't  you  think  there  may  be  more  in  the  matter 
than  lies  on  the  surface?  And  don't  you  think 
you  might  give  me  the  benefit  of  the  doubt?  " 

He  was  silent  for  some  minutes,  and  then  he  rose 
from  his  chair. 

"  I  really  don't  care  what  motive  took  you  to 
Trefusis'  chambers.  I  only  know  you  were  the 
man  I  met  coming  out,  and  I  have  had  to  knuckle 
down  and  say  you  weren't.  That's  what  hurts." 
He  smiled  a  rather  watery  smile.  "  The  fact  is, 
I  am  a  beastly  coward  and  afraid  of  the  governor, 
and  I  am  ashamed  of  myself  for  it.  Good-by.  I 
will  shake  hands  if  you  like." 

Our  hands  met  in  a  not  very  cordial  grasp. 

"  I  know  you  have  suffered  a  good  deal  through 
me,"  I  sai-d,  "  and  I  can  only  repeat  I  am  very 
sorry." 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,"  he  replied  awkwardly. 
"  And — and  you  haven't  given  me  the  letter." 

I  gave  it  to  him,  and  he  took  it  without  a  word. 
He  moved  towards  the  door. 

"  I  wish  to  goodness  I  could  tell  your  father  the 
whole  facts  of  the  case,  but  there  are  others  to  be 
considered,"  I  observed. 

[1251 


THE    TRIFLER 

He  stood  for  some  moments  with  his  hand  on 
the  door-knob. 

"  You  said  I  wasn't  very  intelligent,"  he  re- 
plied at  length.  "  I  think  that's  quite  true.  I 
admit  it  occurred  to  me  that  perhaps  you  were  in 
need  of  money,  and  that  was  your  reason  for — 
doing  as  you  did.  But  I  see  now  that's  absurd. 
I  have  already  apologized  to  you  because  my 
father  said  I  must,  but,  on  my  own  account,  I  am 
sorry  I  called  you  a  thief." 

"Thank  you."  I  was  touched;  and  with  a 
sudden  impulse  I  added,  "  Look  here,  shall  I  go 
and  tell  your  father  that  you  made  no  mistake  ?  I 
can't  give  him  reasons,  but  I  can  tell  him  you  were 
quite  right." 

"  No,  it  wouldn't  do  any  good." 

"  You  are  sure?  " 

"  I  am  certain." 

"  I  am  not  sure,"  I  said  thoughtfully,  "  that  I 
oughtn't  to  go." 

"  I  beg  you  not  to  do  so,"  he  said  quickly. 
"  Surely  you  understand  that  my  father  wants  you 
to  be  innocent.  It  would  be  so  awkward  about 
the  election  if  you  were  not.  And  he  would  only 
be  angry  with  me  for  having  made  you  confess. 
Besides  all  that,  it  would  be  giving  the  lie  direct 
to  Trefusis,  who  is  my  only  friend." 
[126] 


HUMBLE    PIE 

"Trefusis  is  your  only  friend,  is  he?"  I  asked 
slowly. 

Perhaps  there  was  disapproval  in  my  voice,  for 
he  looked  up  defiantly. 

"  Have  you  anything  to  say  against  him?  " 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders.  "  Would  it  be  any 
good?  And  yet " 

"And  yet?" 

I  glanced  at  him.  He  was  standing  by  the 
door,  his  shoulders  square,  and  the  light  of  battle 
in  his  eyes. 

"  If  I  had  a  younger  brother,  and  he  came  and 
told  me  that  Trefusis  was  his  only  friend,  I  should 
do  my  utmost  to  put  an  end  to  the  friendship." 

"  This  comes  well  from  you,"  he  replied,  with 
angry  emphasis.  "  He  has  acted  as  your  friend, 
at  any  rate." 

"  I  knew  it  would  be  useless  to  warn  you." 

"  It  would  be  useless  for  you  to  warn  me." 

He  went  out  quickly,  shutting  the  door  with 
some  violence. 


[127] 


CHAPTER  VIII 

BROTHERLY    SOLICITUDE 

I  RECEIVED   a   peremptory  note   from  my 
brother,  bidding  me  call  on  him  before  I  left 
town  for  Trewint.     Accordingly,  I  turned  up 
at  lunch-time  on  the  day  previous  to  my  departure 
for  the  scene  of  the  approaching  conflict.     I  found 
Mabel  alone. 

"Why  haven't  you  been  to  see  me  before?" 
she  said  reproachfully.  "  I  have  been  living  in  a 
perfect  fever  of  anxiety,  and  not  a  word  from  you. 
It  is  really  not  kind." 

I  glanced  round  the  room.  "  Where's  Ger- 
ald?" 

"  He's  in  his  study,  very  busy.  We've  a  minute 
or  two  to  ourselves  before  lunch.  Now  tell  me 
everything." 

"About  what?" 

"  Oh,  you  know  well  enough.  For  days  I 
haven't  dared  to  open  a  newspaper  or  look  Gerald 
in  the  face.  Oh,  Fred,  how  could  you  ?  " 

"Could  I— what?" 

[129] 


THE    TRIFLER 

"  Act  in  such  a  hare-brained  fashion.  Didn't  I 
tell  you  on  no  account  to  use  violence?  " 

"  Just  like  you,  Mabel,"  I  replied  resignedly. 
"  I  knew  I  should  get  blamed,  whatever  I  did." 

Her  eyes  suddenly  filled  with  tears.  "  I  don't 
blame  you,  Fred.  You  acted  too  nobly -for  any- 
thing. I  am  not  worth  it."  A  delicate  lace 
handkerchief  was  lifted  to  her  eyes.  "  But,  oh,  it 
frightens  me ! " 

"  My  dear  Mabel,"  I  replied,  "  the  whole  thing 
is  over  and  forgotten  by  this  time.  Pray  don't 
revive  it." 

"  But  Mr.  Trefusis  ?  How  he  must  hate  you ! 
I  am  sure  he  is  only  biding  his  time." 

"  Let  him !  "  I  replied,  with  heroism.  "  And 
there's  the  gong." 

We  went  into  the  dining  room,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  Gerald  came  tearing  in  with  a  sheaf  of 
loose  papers  in  his  hand. 

"  Morning,  Fred.  I'm  frightfully  busy,  as 
usual.  Why  haven't  you  been  to  see  me  about  the 
election?  Your  usual  laziness,  I  suppose.  And 
here  have  I  been  working  like  a  slave  for  you," — 
he  waved  the  papers  in  the  air — "  although  I 
haven't  a  moment  to  spare." 

"  You're  always  so  good,"  I  said,  unfolding  my 
napkin.     "  And  what  is  your  latest  kindness  ?  " 
[130] 


BROTHERLY    SOLICITUDE 

"  Gerald,  dear,"  interposed  his  wife,  "  won't 
you  put  those  papers  away  and  attend  to  your 
lunch?" 

He  sat  down,  propping  his  bundle  of  manuscript 
against  a  sherry  decanter,  and  knocking  over  a 
wine-glass. 

"  I've  been  drafting  out  your  speech  for  the 
first  meeting.  *  Ladies  and  Gentlemen ' ' 

"  Gerald,  dear,"  said  his  wife,  with  excessive 
sweetness,  "  would  you  mind  removing  that  piece 
of  paper  from  the  sauce-bowl?  " 

"  Yes,  dear.  *  It  is  a  matter  of  great  regret  to 
my  brother,  Sir  Gerald  Trewint,  that  ministerial 
business  of  the  utmost  importance  prevents 
him ' " 

"  Your  soup  is  getting  cold,  dear,"  observed  his 
wife,  with  slight  asperity.  "  Won't  you  leave 
Fred's  speech  till  afterwards?" 

"  There  is  so  little  time,"  explained  my  brother. 
"  Fred,  with  his  usual  dilatoriness,  has  left  the 
matter  so  late." 

"  Oh,  don't  bother  to  read  it  aloud,"  I  put  in. 
"  I'll  glance  over  what  you  have  written  as  soon  as 
I  have  a  moment  to  spare." 

"  It  will  take  you  all  your  time  to  learn  it,"  said 
my  brother  warningly.  "  You  must  put  your 
shoulder  to  the  wheel." 

[131] 


THE    TRIFLER 

"  To  learn  it?  "  I  asked,  astonished. 

"  Of  course,  you  must  have  it  by  heart,"  re- 
plied Gerald  irritably.  "  You  can't  read  it;  no 
one  will  listen  to  a  speech  that  is  read." 

"  You  really  expect  me  to  learn  all  those  pages 
off  by  heart?"  I  exclaimed.  "Really,  Gerald, 
you  are  very  sanguine." 

He  laid  down  the  papers  and  regarded  me  with 
rising  indignation. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  sir,"  he  said,  "  that 
after  all  the  trouble  I  have  taken  to  prevent  you 
making  a  most  absolute  ass  of  yourself,  by  penning 
some  judicious  and  carefully  considered  observa- 
tions for  you  to  deliver,  you  will  decline  to  put 
yourself  to  the  slight  mental  effort  of  committing 
them  to  memory?  Answer  me,  sir?  " 

"  Parsons,"  said  Mabel,  in  an  aside  to  the  butler, 
11  take  those  papers  out  of  Sir  Gerald's  soup." 

"  My  dear  Gerald,"  I  returned,  "  I  should  be 
delighted  to  do  anything  in  reason  to  please  you, 
but  I  never  could  commit  things  to  memory. 
Don't  you  remember  how  I  used  to  get  whacked 
by  old  Madame  Longlegs  because  my  Collects 
would  get  mixed  up  with  profane  ditties?  " 

"  Who  was  Madame  Longlegs?  "  asked  Mabel, 
to  create  a  diversion. 

"  It  is  a  ribald  name  for  a  very  deserving  lady," 


BROTHERLY    SOLICITUDE 

said  Gerald,  u  who  acted  as  Fred's  governess.  I 
do  not  exaggerate  when  I  assert  that  Fred  broke 
the  good  woman's  heart." 

"  But  if  Fred  can't  commit  things  to  memory, 
it's  no  good  worrying,  is  it,  dear?  Now,  I'm 
rather  good  at  that  kind  of  thing.  At  private 
theatricals  I  am  a  tremendously  quick  study. 
Don't  you  remember,  Fred,  at  the  Storeys*  what 
fun  we  had " 

My  brother  made  a  gesture  of  impatience. 
"  Pray  do  not  encourage  Fred  in  his  folly.  Just 
consider  for  a  moment  what  he  is  likely  to  do  if 
his  speeches  are  not  composed  by  me.  Bring  be- 
fore your  mental  vision  a  crowded  and  excited 
meeting,  and  Fred,  a  lonely  imbecile,  in  the 
chair." 

"Why  'lonely,'  and  why  'imbecile'?"  I 
ventured. 

"That's  how  you  will  feel.  Do  you  think  I 
have  no  experience  of  public  meetings?  " 

"  Oh,  of  course,  if  that's  your  experience " 

"  Everyone  waits  expectantly,  and  then  he  rises, 
opens  his  mouth,  and  talks  disjointed  incoherent 
rubbish,  stuttering  and  stammering,  while  the 
whole  place  rocks  with  laughter." 

"  Are  you  still  drawing  on  your  experience?  "  I 
asked. 

[133] 


THE    TRIFLER 

He  glared  at  me.  "  No,  sir;  I  would  not  ven- 
ture to  insult  an  audience  by  speaking  without  care- 
ful preparation.  I  do  not  loaf  into  a  meeting, 
imagining  that  any  baby  nonsense  that  rises  to  the 
surface  of  my  mind  is  good  enough.  Before 
venturing  to  speak,  I  spend  hours  of  careful 
thought  upon  my  subject.  I  owe  this  to  myself 
and  to  the  public.  But,  of  course,  in  your  over- 
weening conceit,  you  think  such  preliminary  labor 
is  unnecessary.  You  imagine " 

"  I  am  sure  Fred  will  make  most  amusing 
speeches,"  said  Mabel,  who  was  evidently  anxious 
to  constitute  herself  my  champion. 

"Amusing!  Flippant,  do  you  mean?  With 
quips  and  cranks  that  would  disgrace  a  clown  in  a 
provincial  circus !  And  great  issues  are  at  stake ! 
The  whole  country  is  watching  with  eagerness  the 
result  of  this  election;  the  Government  may  even 
take  its  cue  from  it.  And  Fred  thinks  the  time 
fit  for  buffoonery." 

"  Really,  Gerald,  you  go  rather  too  far,"  I  ex- 
postulated mildly.  "  And  all  because  I  tell  you  I 
am  mentally  incapable  of  committing  long  screeds 
to  memory.  Besides,  though  your  speeches  are 
very  logical  and  convincing,  they  are  not  the  least 
fitted  for  election  platforms.  You  had  much 
better  leave  me  to  do  the  best  I  can." 
[134] 


BROTHERLY    SOLICITUDE 

"  I  am  sure  it  will  be  best  to  let  Fred  manage  for 
himself,"  Mabel  indorsed. 

"  Of  course,  I  shall  be  glad  to  read  your  speech 
through  and  make  notes,"  I  continued,  "but  I 
really  cannot  undertake  to  learn  it  off  by  heart." 

"  I  think  Fred  ought  to  have  a  chance  of  dis- 
tinguishing himself,"  observed  Mabel.  "  His 
style  is  so  different  from  yours  that  people  would 
see  at  once  that  you  had  written  his  speech." 

"  Your  giant's  robe  will  only  embarrass  me,"  1 
put  in  by  way  of  conciliation.  "  The  ass  in  the 
lion's  skin  wasn't  at  all  a  success." 

My  brother  was  so  indignant  that  for  some 
minutes  he  found  it  -difficult  to  speak.  "  Your 
simile  shows  a  very  proper  appreciation  of  the  role 
you  will  play,"  he  said  bitterly.  "  But  so  be  it.  I 
wash  my  hands  of  you.  Go  and  make  a  laughing- 
stock of  yourself.  Go  and  bring  our  honored 
name  into  ridicule.  Lose  the  election.  Do  what 
you  like.  I  will  not  raise  a  finger  to  prevent  you." 

Of  course,  as  soon  as  Mabel  saw  that  Gerald 
was  seriously  annoyed,  she  began  to  waver  in  her 
allegiance  to  me. 

"  Perhaps,  Fred,  it  will  be  better  if  you  try  to 
learn  by  heart  what  Gerald  has  written.  It  is  a 
pity  to  waste  it.  And  then  it  will  save  you  a  lot 
of  trouble." 

F  I.T5  1 


THE    TRIFLER 

"  No,  Mabel,"  interposed  her  husband,  "  leave 
him  to  learn  from  experience.  I  have  done  with 
him.  Let  him  play  antics  in  the  sight  of  God 
and  man.  Do  not  attempt  to  show  him  his 
folly." 

"  I  think,  Fred,  you  ought  to  do  what  Gerald 
wants,"  said  Mabel,  entirely  veering  round. 
"  Considering  the  difference  in  your  ages,  I  some- 
times feel  you  hardly  treat  Gerald  with  sufficient 
respect." 

"Oh,  bother  1"  I  replied.  "Here,  give  me 
those  papers.  Anything  for  a  quiet  life."  I 
seized  them  and  shoved  them  into  my  breast 
pocket,  with  a  mental  resolve  to  commit  the  speech, 
not  to  memory,  but  to  the  flames,  at  the  first  op- 
portunity. 

It  took  some  little  time  for  Gerald  to  recover  his 
good  humor,  but  before  lunch  was  over  he  was 
cramming  me  with  the  repartees  he  had  found 
useful  in  his  electioneering  campaigns.  I  listened 
with  docility,  and  soon  Gerald  had  received  me 
back  into  favor. 

"  By  the  way,"  he  said,  "  you'll  see  a  good  deal 
of  that  Telby  girl."  He  winked  at  his  wife. 
"  Fine  girl,  eh,  Fred?" 

"  Oh,  very  nice,"  said  I,  breaking  a  walnut  with 
my  fingers. 

[136] 


BROTHERLY    SOLICITUDE 

"  Her  father  will  give  her  a  good  round  sum 
when  she  marries." 

"How  do  you  know  that?"  I  asked,  looking 
up. 

"  A  little  bird  told  me." 

"  I  don't  believe  little  birds,"  I  replied,  "  and  I 
don't  care,  anyhow." 

"  I  know  it  on  the  best  authority,"  he  went  on. 
"  I  don't  know  why  I  shouldn't  tell  you  that  Telby 
told  me  so  himself." 

"  Oh,  indeed ! "  I  intercepted  a  warning 
glance  passing  from  Mabel  to  her  husband,  and  I 
wondered  where  the  conversation  was  tending. 

"  Six  figures,  Fred.  You  may  take  it  for  cer- 
tain." 

"  I  am  really  not  interested." 

Mabel  intervened.  "  You  might  do  worse, 
Fred.  And — it  is  time  you  settled  down." 

I  glanced  up.  "  Oh,  that's  the  idea,  is  it?  Six 
figures,  did  you  say?  Well,  she's  a  handsome 
girl." 

Mabel  and  Gerald  exchanged  smiles. 

"  But  I'm  afraid,"  I  continued,  "  she'd  worry 
me  into  my  grave.  She's  a  perfect  idiot." 

"  Suit  you  splendidly,"  said  my  brother  en- 
thusiastically. 

"  I  don't  suppose  Mr.  Telby  would  hear  of  it." 
[137] 


THE    TRIFLER 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  would,"  returned  my  brother  in- 
cautiously. 

"  What,  the  matter's  been  mooted?  " 

Gerald  hesitated,  grew  confused,  and  stammered 
out  a  half  denial,  following  it  immediately  with  a 
half  admission. 

I  frowned  thoughtfully.  "  Ought  not  love  to 
enter  into  affairs  of  this  kind?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Mabel,  with  great  decision. 

"  Well,  I'm  not  in  love  with  her." 

"  You've  only  seen  her  once." 

"  Oh,  I  see ;  it  is  contingent  on  our  falling  in 
love." 

"  Why,  certainly,"  responded  Mabel. 

"  A  young  man,"  remarked  my  brother,  "  has 
usually  no  difficulty  on  that  score." 

"  Unless  he  already  loves  someone,"  suggested 
my  sister-in-law.  "  Do  you,  Fred?  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  replied  my  brother  for  me, 
with  extreme  annoyance  at  the  suggestion. 

"  Then  I  don't  see,"  observed  Mabel,  "  why  it 
can't  be  arranged.  It  would  be  the  making  of 
you,  Fred." 

"  I  don't  care  to  be  wife-made,"  I  retorted.  "  I 
would  even  prefer  to  be  self-made." 

"  In  the  latter  case,"  said  Gerald,  "  you  would 
be  very  badly  made.  But  we  needn't  discuss  the 
[138] 


BROTHERLY    SOLICITUDE 

matter  further.  Everything  depends  on  Fred,  so 
I  have  little  hope." 

"  The  girl  has  to  say  a  word  or  so,"  I  hinted. 

"  Mr.  Telby  has  brought  his  family  up  very 
well,"  replied  Gerald. 

"  You  mean,"  said  I,  "  the  unhappy  girl  will  do 
what  she  is  told?  " 

"  She  will  realize  her  father  knows  best." 

"  You  don't  suppose,"  I  rejoined  with  indigna- 
tion, "  that  I  will  be  a  party  to  any  compulsion?  " 

"  I  don't  see,"  retorted  Gerald  dryly,  "  how  you 
can  otherwise  expect  to  get  married."  • 

"  Then  I'll  remain  single." 

"  Don't  annoy  him,  dear,"  said  Mabel  to  her 
husband.  "  He's  only  teasing  you,"  she  said  to 
me.  "  Why,  hundreds  of  girls  would  give  their 
heads  to  marry  Fred,"  she  threw  to  her  husband. 

"  In  Miss  Telby's  case,  it  would  not  be  a  great 
gift,"  I  observed. 

"  If  she  gives  her  heart,"  said  Mabel  gently, 
"  won't  that  be  enough  ?  " 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders,  and  helped  myself  to 
a  cigar  from  my  brother's  cabinet.  "  I'll  think 
about  it." 

Soon  after  I  took  my  leave,  not  a  little  discon- 
certed at  the  prospect  which  had  suddenly  opened 
before  me.  It  was  with  reluctance  that  I  had 

[  139.  ] 


THE    TRIFLER 

agreed  to  take  part  in  the  Trewint  election.  It 
had  been  arranged  without  my  sanction  that  I 
should  stay  with  the  Telbys ;  and  now,  it  appeared, 
I  was  to  have  small  share  in  the  choice  of  a  wife. 

It  is  very  pleasant  to  drift  through  life;  to  be 
at  the  helm  continually  is  fatiguing.  How  much 
better  to  lie  on  one's  back  and  watch,  half  drowsily, 
the  clear  summer  skies  overhead,  letting  the  boat 
go  where  it  will.  At  the  same  time,  if  it  has  to  be 
steered,  one  rather  likes  to  have  a  hand  in  the 
operation.  Why  should  one's  relations  be  entitled 
to  constitute  themselves  pilots  ?  It  is  really  annoy- 
ing to  discover  that  some  officious  person  has 
clambered  on  board  and  is  steadily  steering  towards 
troubled  waters. 


[140] 


CHAPTER  IX 

MILLY 

I  AM  really  sorry,  Tarling,"  I  said,  "  but  it  is 
impossible  to  take  you  with  me." 
"  Very  good,  sir,"  he  replied,  swallowing 
his  disappointment. 

"  You  see,"  I  explained  apologetically,  "  it 
might  be  a  little  awkward.  Someone  might  recog- 
nize you  as  having  been  in  Mr.  Trefusis'  service, 
and  it  might  get  to  old  Telby's  ears." 

His  face  betokened  enlightenment.  "  I  see  it's 
impossible,  sir." 

I  looked  at  him  thoughtfully.  "  I  suppose  you 
want  to  see  your  mother?  " 

"  It's  rather  she  wants  to  see  me,  sir.  She 
knows  I  am  with  you,  and  very  proud  of  it  she  is. 
And,  of  course,  she  expects  me  to  come  down  with 
you." 

**  She's  still  at  the  East  Lodge,  isn't  she?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  There's  no  reason,"  I  said,  after  a  moment's 
reflection,  "why  you  shouldn't  go  and  stay  with 
her.  Say  I  have  given  you  a  holiday." 


THE    TRIFLER 

He  looked  up,  full  of  gratitude.  "  I'll  come  to 
your  meetings  and  shout  '  Hooray  1 ' 

I  laughed.     "  That's  as  you  like." 

I  left  for  Trewint  by  the  morning  train,  which, 
in  the  ordinary  course,  would  have  given  me  half 
an  hour  for  lunch  at  Middleton  Junction.  How- 
ever, on  arriving  there,  a  porter  came  hurrying  to 
tell  me  a  train  for  Trewint  was  just  starting. 

"How's  that?"  I  asked.  "I  thought  I  had 
half  an  hour  ?  " 

"  It's  the  morning  express,"  he  explained. 
"  Been  delayed  by  a  goods  train  off  the  line." 

It  is  not  often  that  an  accident  accelerates  a  rail- 
way journey,  but  in  the  present  case  I  was  landed 
at  Trewint  an  hour  before  I  was  due.  There  was 
hardly  a  soul  in  the  brand-new  red-brick  station 
that  had  taken  the  place  of  the  wooden  shanty  to 
which  I  was  accustomed.  There  was  a  new 
station-master,  who  knew  me  not  from  Adam,  and 
if  he  had,  I  do  not  suppose  he  would  have  cared. 
Alas,  how  our  glory  had  departed  I  There  was  a 
time  when  the  railway  officials  fought  for  the 
honor  of  carrying  a  Trewint's  bag  from  the  plat- 
form to  the  carriage.  I  ventured  to  ask  him  if  I 
could  get  a  fly,  and  he  replied,  indifferently,  that 
there  was  sometimes  one  in  the  yard.  The  only 

[142] 


MILLY 

porter  in  sight  was  collecting  tickets,  so  I  carried 
my  own  traps  outside,  and,  piling  them  in  a  solitary 
heap,  gazed  about  for  some  means  of  conveyance. 
Of  course,  there  was  none  in  view. 

I  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  then,  not  presum- 
ing to  address  the  highly  placed  official  who  had 
treated  my  former  advances  with  nonchalance,  I 
asked  the  porter,  a  pleasant-faced  lad,  with  a  shock 
of  red  hair,  which  he  had  evidently  endeavored  to 
oil  into  submission,  how  I  could  get  to  Dewhurst, 
Mr.  Telby's  residence.  I  had  no  longer  to  com- 
plain of  neglect,  for  he  took  at  once  a  personal 
interest  in  the  matter.  He  told  me  where  it  was 
located,  which  I  knew  already,  and  the  exact  dis- 
tance, and  some  other  details  which  did  not  bear  on 
the  problem. 

"  Do  you  think  I  could  get  a  trap  at  the 
'  Swan  '  ?  "  I  asked  him. 

He  was  willing  to  go  and  ask,  and  was  half-way 
across  the  yard,  when  I  changed  my  mind,  and 
called  him  back. 

"On  the  whole,"  I  said,  "I'd  rather  walk. 
Can  you  put  these  things,"  I  indicated  the  desolate 
heap,  "  in  the  booking  office  till  they  are  called 
for?" 

He  approved  of  the  suggestion,  and  laid  hands 
with  great  willingness  on  my  bag. 
[143] 


THE    TRIFLER 

"  By  the  way,"  I  continued,  "  do  you  know  Mr. 
Telby  by  sight?" 

Of  course  he  did.  His  manner  gave  me  to  un- 
derstand I  had  asked  a  ridiculous  question. 

"  Well,  will  you  tell  him  that  I  caught  an  earlier 
train,  and  that  I  am  walking  to  Dewhurst?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.     What  name  shall  I  say?  " 

"  Oh,  Trewint— Mr.  Trewint." 

He  dropped  the  bag  with  a  thud  on  the  stones. 

"  Not— not  Freddy  Trewint?  " 

I  regarded  him  with  surprise,  and  I  suppose  I 
should  have  reproved  him  for  undue  familiarity 
if  his  manners  had  not  returned  with  a  rush  that 
colored  his  face  the  hue  of  his  hair. 

"  I  beg  pardon,  sir,"  he  apologized.  "  But  we 
always  speak  of  you  like  that." 

"  It's  very  good  of  you  to  speak  of  me  at  all; " 
I  said,  "but  why?" 

He  explained ;  it  seemed  he  followed  with  kindly 
interest  my  exploits  in  the  cricket  field.  I  forgave 
him  at  once.  His  manner  indicated  that  he  re- 
garded me  as  a  great  man. 

"  Well,  all  right,"  I  said.  "  You'll  be  sure  to 
tell  Mr.  Telby  I've  gone  on?  " 

"  Miss  Telby  is  in  the  town,"  he  informed  me 
eagerly.  "  I  saw  her  go  past  on  her  bicycle.  I 
think  she's  at  the  Mission  Hall." 


MILLY 

"  Is  that  far?  "  It  would  be  pleasant  to  see  her 
again,  especially  as  it  had  been  arranged  that  I 
was  to  marry  her  some  day. 

"  Oh,  no,  sir;  just  across  the  way.  Shall  I  go 
and  fetch  her?" 

It  did  not  seem  quite  the  thing  to  send  a  porter 
to  fetch  a  young  lady.  "  You  might  run  across," 
said  I,  "  and  tell  her  that  I  have  arrived  before  my 
time,  and  ask  her  if  she  knows  where  her  father  is, 
as  I  want  to  stop  him  troubling  to  come  to  meet 
me.  Can  you  remember  all  that?  " 

He  went  off  at  a  run,  and  I  carried  my  luggage 
into  the  booking  office.  I  was  detained  a  few 
minutes  by  the  clerk  insisting  on  collecting  two- 
pence for  each  package,  as  he  called  the  items  of 
my  baggage.  When  I  emerged  again  into  the 
station  yard,  it  was  to  find  a  young  lady,  and  a 
gentleman  in  clerical  attire,  and  the  porter,  all 
engaged  in  propping  a  bicycle  against  the  station 
wall. 

"  Here  is  Mr.  Trewint,  miss,"  said  the  porter, 
kindly  introducing  me. 

The  young  lady,  who  was  certainly  not  the  Miss 
Telby  I  knew,  advanced  quickly  and  offered  her 
hand. 

"  I  am  sorry  no  one  was  here  to  meet  you,  Mr. 
Trewint.  Papa  will  be  so  vexed." 

[145] 


THE    TRIFLER 

I  took  her  hand.  "  I  am  to  blame.  Or,  per- 
haps, it  was  the  driver  who  ran  his  engine  off  the 
line.  In  any  case,  it  doesn't  matter." 

"Oh,  but  how  are  you  to  get  to  Dewhurst?" 
she  asked. 

"  I  propose  to  walk." 

"  It  does  seem  inhospitable  to  make  a  guest  walk 
five  miles.  I  dare  say  we  can  get  a  trap  at  the 
1  Swan.' " 

"  Pray  don't  bother.     I  shall  like  the  walk." 

She  gave  the  most  natural  little  laugh  in  the 
world.  "  We  must  manage  to  get  you  there  some- 
how. So  much  depends  on  you,  you  know.  And 
— and — Mr.  Vicars,  may  I  introduce  Mr.  Tre- 
wint?" 

The  gentleman  so  named  came  forward  and 
shook  me  by  the  hand,  not  very  cordially. 

"  I  think  we  know  each  other,"  he  observed. 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course,"  said  I,  not  remembering 
him  in  the  least. 

"At  Oxford." 

"  Ah,  yes,  yes.     You're  the  football  Vicars?  " 

"  I  used  to  play  football  in  my  younger  days," 
he  replied  grimly,  "  when  life  was  not,  perhaps, 
regarded  as  a  very  serious  thing." 

I  put  him  down  at  once  for  a  prig.  He  was 
a  tall,  loosely  made  man,  with  a  thin  face 
[146] 


MILLY 

and  deep,  melancholy  eyes.  I  began  to  recall 
him. 

"  I  remember,"  I  said  lightly.  "  I  used  to  be 
rude  to  you  at  the  Union." 

He  did  not  seem  anxious  to  discuss  the  incidents 
of  'Varsity  life,  for  he  turned  away.  "  If  you 
like,  Miss  Millicent,"  he  said,  "  I  will  call  at  the 
'  Swan  '  as  I  pass." 

"  Oh,  please  don't  trouble,"  I  said  hastily.  "  I 
have  really  set  my  heart  on  walking." 

"  Shall  I  walk  with  you?  "  asked  the  girl.  She 
could  not  have  been  much  more  than  twenty,  and 
she  was  extremely  pretty — not  beautiful  like  her 
sister,  but  bright  and  altogether  charming. 

I  tried  not  to  show  too  much  eagerness.  "  That 
would  be  delightful,"  I  replied,  "  but  it  will  tire 
you  too  much." 

"  Tire  me !  "     She  laughed  at  the  idea. 

"  And  you  have  a  bicycle?  " 

"  Oh,  I  can  wheel  it." 

"  I'll  do  that,  of  course,"  I  answered,  "  but  it's 
too  bad  to  make  you  walk  all  that  long  distance. 
What  a  pity  I  didn't  bring  mine !  "  A  thought 
struck  me.  "  I  suppose  you  couldn't  lend  me  one, 
Mr.  Vicars?" 

"  I  do  not  cycle,"  he  rejoined  shortly. 

"  It  would  be  rather  nice  if  you  could  borrow  a 
[147] 


THE    TRIFLER 

bicycle,"  remarked  the  girl.  She  looked  round 
vaguely,  and  her  glance  fell  on  the  porter  who  was 
standing  near,  evidently  feeling  he  was  one  of  the 
party.  "  Why,  Robert,"  she  said,  "  I  know  you 
bicycle.  Won't  you  lend  yours  to  Mr.  Tre- 
wint?" 

"  It  will  be  very  kind  of  you,  Robert,  if  you 
will,"  I  added. 

Robert  glowed  with  pleasure.  "  It  aint  much 
of  a  one,"  he  said  warningly. 

"  It  will  do  splendidly,"  I  assured  him.  "  Have 
you  got  it  handy  ?  " 

"  It's  in  the  shed,"  he  answered,  and  darted  off 
to  fetch  it. 

"  Robert  is  in  my  Bible  class,"  said  the  girl  to 
me  confidentially.  "  He  is  a  dear  boy."  She 
turned  to  Vicars.  "  You  like  him,  too,  don't  you, 
Mr.  Vicars?" 

"  I  think  he  has  the  making  of  a  good  man  in 
him,"  he  answered  abstractedly. 

"  Robert  is  in  love  with  one  of  our  maids. 
They're  *  walking  out,'  and  he  often  comes  to 
Dewhurst.  And  oh,  Mr.  Trewint,  don't  insult 
the  poor  boy  by  tipping  him  before  us  all.  If 
you  will  ride  his  bicycle,  it  will  make  him  so 
proud." 

It  was  delightful  to  find  her  so  considerate  of 
[148] 


MILLY 

Robert's  feelings.  I  decided  at  that  moment  I 
preferred  her  to  her  elder  sister. 

Robert  came  back  wheeling  his  machine,  and 
simultaneously  dusting  it  with  his  cap.  Regarded 
simply  as  a  bicycle,  it  was  not,  perhaps,  the  highest 
example  of  its  kind.  It  had  a  "  solid  "  tire,  part 
of  which  had  been  chipped  off  by  constant  wear. 
Even  as  its  proud  owner  wheeled  it  towards  us,  it 
groaned  ominously. 

"  It's  just  the  thing,"  I  said  heartily,  "  though, 
perhaps,  the  saddle  needs  raising." 

This  was  done  with  some  difficulty,  for  the 
screws  were  stiff.  When  all  was  ready,  I  took  a 
trial  trip  round  the  yard. 

"Beautiful!"  I  cried  enthusiastically,  as  it 
pumped  and  rattled  over  the  ground.  "  Are  you 
ready,  Miss  Telby?  " 

Miss  Telby  was  quite  ready.  She  gave  some 
directions  about  my  luggage,  shook  hands  with 
Vicars,  and  prepared  to  mount  her  own  ma- 
chine. 

"  By  the  way,  how  shall  I  return  this  to  you, 
Robert?"  I  asked  him. 

"  I'll  be  up  at  Dewhurst  to-night,  sir,"  said 
Robert,  very  red  in  the  face. 

"Good  boy,"  remarked  Miss  Telby  approv- 
ingly. I  nodded  to  Vicars,  and,  following  my 

[  149  ] 


THE    TRIFLER 

guide,  we  left  the  station  yard  in  fine  style,  and 
spun  along  the  main  road. 

"  It's  as  good  as  horse-riding,"  I  observed,  as 
my  steed  bumped  madly  over  a  puddle  in  a  vain 
endeavor  to  gain  on  the  pretty  figure  that  seemed 
to  skim  over  the  ground  in  front  of  me. 

"  You  remind  me  of  a  luggage  train,"  she 
laughed.  "What  a  terrible  noise  you  are 
making  I  " 

"  I  shan't  require  a  bell,  which  is  fortunate,  as 
I  haven't  got  one."  Making  a  great  effort,  I 
managed  to  get  abreast  of  her,  and  we  rode  along 
in  silence. 

At  length  she  turned  her  head  and  regarded  me 
with  some  curiosity. 

"  I  have  heard  so  much  of  you,"  she  said. 
"  And — you're  not  a  bit  what  I  expected." 

"  What  have  you  heard?  "  I  asked  anxiously. 
"  In  any  case,  it  isn't  true." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  she  observed  thoughtfully,  and 
she  paused.  "  Molly  tells  me  everything,"  she 
continued  after  an  interval. 

"  Miss  Molly  has  told  me  about  you,"  I  re- 
joined. "That  is,  if  you  are  Miss  Milly,  as  I 
assume." 

"  Oh,  yes;  I'm  Milly.  But  what  did  Molly  say 
about  me?" 

[150] 


MILLY 

"  She  said  you  were  terribly  clever." 

She  laughed  rather  constrainedly.  "  That's 
what  Molly  thinks,  I  know,  but " 

"  I  shan't  believe  you  if  you  deny  it,"  I  said. 
"  Of  course,  no  one  would  admit  a  thing  like  that. 
I  think,  though,  it  is  better  to  pretend  to  be  a  per- 
fect idiot,  and  then  one's  friends  accept  an  occa- 
sional glimmer  of  sense  with  gratitude." 

"  I  suppose  then  it  is  clever  not  to  seem  clever  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"  That,  at  any  rate,  is  my  theory,"  I  replied 
guardedly.  "  But  what  have  you  heard  about  me  ? 
Nothing  to  my  good,  I  expect?  " 

"No;  nothing  to  your  good,"  she  answered 
gravely. 

I  was  taken  aback  by  her  serious  tone  and  die 
directness  of  her  answer. 

"  May  I  ask  for  particulars?  "  I  ventured. 

She  turned  her  head  and  smiled  slightly.  "  No, 
I  don't  think  you  may."  The  next  moment  she 
changed  her  mind.  "  Perhaps  I  had  better  tell 
you  that  Molly  and  Gilbert  are  great  chums,  and, 
naturally,  Molly  takes  Gilbert's  part." 

"  I  begin  to  understand,"  I  remarked. 

"  Things  have  been  very  uncomfortable  at  home 
lately,"  she  continued  in  a  low  voice.  "  Perhaps 
I  oughtn't  to  say  anything.  It — it  is  so  difficult 


THE    TRIFLER 

to  know  when  to  speak  and  when  to  be  silent.  I 
should  not  have  said  a  word  if  you  had  been  dif- 
ferent, but — but " 

"But— what?" 

"  Well,  you  seem  good-natured,"  she  went  on 
hurriedly,  "  and  I  think  perhaps  you  will  under- 
stand; and — and — it  may  save  awkwardness." 

"  Pray  go  on." 

She  turned  her  head  away.  "  Gilbert  has  told 
Molly  everything.  He  has  promised  father  to 
apologize  to  you,  but  he  still  believes  what  he  said 
at  first." 

I  nodded.     "  I  know  that." 

"  He  will  apologize  because  father  makes  him, 
not  because  he  thinks  he  has  made  a  mistake." 

"  I  know  that  too.  I  am  very  sorry  your  father 
pressed  him  to  do  so." 

"  Molly  believes  what  Gilbert  says,  and — and 
she  is  angry  that  poor  Gilbert  should  have  been 
obliged  to — to  give  in.  She  told  father  that  if 
you  came  to  Dewhurst  she  would  refuse  to  speak 
to  you.  Oh,  there  have  been  such  terrible  scenes  1 
You  don't  know  Molly  well,  I  suppose?  She  is 
very  sweet  and  gentle,  but  if  she  once  makes  up  her 
mind,  nothing  will  make  her  change  it.  She  can 
be  as  obstinate  as  father." 

I  sighed.     "  How  unfortunate  everything  isl  " 


MILLY 

She  looked  at  me  anxiously.  "  You're  not 
annoyed?" 

"  Only  with  myself.  I  didn't  want  to  come  to 
Dewhurst,  but  it  was  all  arranged  without  consult- 
ing me.  I  feel  the  most  absolute  brute  in  the 
world.  If  you  will  only  suggest  something — 
even  to  drowning  myself  in  that  pond — I'll  do  it." 

"  I've  told  you  this  because  I  want  you  to  stand 
between  Molly  and  father.  Not  by  speaking  to 
him,"  she  added  hastily.  "  Oh,  no;  not  by  speak- 
ing, but  simply  by  trying  to  prevent  Molly  from 
seeming  rude.  Do  you  understand?  " 

"  Shall  I  turn  round  and  go  back  to  town  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  cried  in  alarm.  "  Please,  please, 
don't.  That  would  make  things  so  terrible. 
Father  would  be  in  such  a  rage  if  he  thought  you 
were  annoyed  about  anything.  Pray  don't  go 
away." 

"  Of  course,  I  won't  then,"  I  answered;  but  at 
the  same  time  I  felt  a  little  bewildered ;  and  I  won- 
dered what  course  of  action  she  wished  me  to 
adopt.  She  noticed  my  perplexity. 

"  It's  difficult  to  explain,"  she  said.  "  But  if 
Molly  is  rude,  please  don't  show  you  notice  it. 
And  please  try  and  prevent  father  from  noticing  it, 
also." 

My  brain  was  in  a  whirl.    "  I'll  do  everything  I 

[153] 


THE    TRIFLER 

can,"  I  said.  "  She  won't  speak  to  me,  you  say? 
I  am  in  the  position  of  a  guest  whose  hostess  de- 
clines to  recognize  his  presence,  but  I  have  to  try 
and  pretend  that  everything  is  as  pleasant  as 
possible." 

"  So  that  father  mayn't  notice." 

"  I'll  do  what  I  can."  The  prospect  was  full 
of  woe. 

She  laid  a  little  hand  on  my  arm.  "  It  will  be 
horrid  for  you ;  oh,  so  horrid  1 " 

"  I  deserve  it  all,  and  a  great  deal  more." 

"  I'll  help  you  all  I  can,"  she  whispered. 

"  Thank  you,  very  much.  By  the  way,  is  Gilbert 
here?" 

She  shook  her  head.    I  felt  relieved. 

"So  Miss  Telby  thinks  I  am  a  thief?"  I  ob- 
served after  a  pause. 

She  did  not  answer,  but  the  color  flew  to  her 
cheek.  I  ventured  as  near  her  as  safety  would 
permit. 

"  Do  you,  also,  think  I  am  a  thief?  " 

The  flush  deepened,  but  still  she  did  not 
speak. 

"  I  see  you  do,"  I  said  sadly. 

Her  bicycle  gave  a  sudden  wobble.  "  Oh, 
please  don't  misunderstand  me,"  she  cried.  "  I 
only  mean  I  don't  think  Gilbert  made  a  mistake. 
[154] 


MILLY 

I  am  certain  there  is  a  great  deal  more  in  the  mat- 
ter than  we  know.  I  have  told  Molly  so,  over  and 
over  again." 

"  She  is  not  prepared  to  give  me  the  benefit  of 
any  doubt?" 

."Well,  no." 

"  It  can't  be  helped." 

"  What  a  pity  Gilbert  met  you." 

"  I  agree,  very  heartily." 

She  turned  her  head  and  smiled.  "  Why,  you 
have  admitted  it  was  you !  " 

"  So  I  have,"  I  sighed.  "  The  fact  is,  I  make 
only  a  third-rate  criminal." 

"  Why  did  you  do  it? "  she  asked  curiously. 
"  You  weren't  in  want  of — of  money?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  no !  "  I  cried.  "  It  was  for  quite  a 
different  reason." 

"But  you  can't  tell?" 

"  It  is  impossible  to  tell." 

She  rode  on  thoughtfully.  "  I  am  only  a  wo- 
man," she  said  at  length,  "  and  awfully  curious. 
But  I  won't  ask  you  any  more  questions." 

I  thanked  her.  "  I  give  you  my  word,"  I  said 
earnestly,  "  that  I  haven't  done  anything  really 
dishonorable.  What  I  did,  I  had  to  do;  and  if 
it  had  to  be  done  again,  I  expect  I  should  do  it 
again.  But  I  am  sorry  for  your  brother." 
[155] 


THE    TRIFLER 

"  Let  us  agree  not  to  talk  about  it  any  more. 
I  believe  what  you  have  said." 

We  were  approaching  Dewhurst.  In  the  dis- 
tance a  trap  was  approaching  us,  and  as  it  drew 
near  I  saw  Mr.  Telby  was  driving  it.  His  face 
expressed  astonishment  at  finding  me  in  his 
daughter's  company.  We  stopped  and  dis- 
mounted, and  explained  the  situation. 

"  I'll  drive  on  to  Trewint,"  he  said,  "  and  get 
your  luggage,  or  if  you  are  tired  of  that  re- 
markable machine,  I'll  drive  you  back  to  Dew- 
hurst." 

"  Not  at  all,"  I  replied  quickly.  "  I  am  enjoy- 
ing my  ride." 

He  waved  his  hand  as  he  drove  off.  Milly  and 
I  remounted  our  bicycles. 

"  It  is  lucky,"  she  observed  reflectively,  "  that 
he  won't  be  present  when  you  meet  Molly." 

"  I  do  trust,"  I  said  nervously,  "  there  won't  be 


a  scene." 


"  Oh,  no."    But  her  tone  expressed  some  doubt. 

In  a  few  minutes  we  reached  the  iron  gate  that 
separated  Dewhurst  from  the  main  road,  and  we 
skimmed  up  the  avenue. 

"  You're  going  to  stand  my  friend?  "  I  said  ap- 
prehensively. There  was  something  awe-inspir- 
ing in  the  solid  stone  house  that  rose  before  us.  It 
[156] 


MILLY 

reminded  me  of  a  prison.    "  Remember,  I  am  only 


one." 


She  smiled  encouragement.  "  I  will  protect  you 
against  Molly,  and  you  must  protect  Molly  against 
father.  It's  a  bargain." 

"  If  you  are  on  my  side,"  I  replied,  "  I  am  ready 
to  face  anything." 

"  I  am  on  your  side,"  she  answered.  Our  eyes 
happened  to  meet,  and,  for  no  reason,  we  averted 
them  in  confusion. 

It  can  be  under  no  circumstances  a  pleasurable 
experience  to  stay  at  a  house  whose  mistress  you 
know  regards  you  with  aversion.  But  when  you 
are  forewarned  that  she  has  registered  a  vow  not  to 
speak  to  you,  you  may  surely  be  forgiven  if  you, 
cross  the  threshold  with  much  the  same  feelings 
you  would  enter  a  penitentiary. 

A  footman  took  away  my  bicycle,  which  he 
regarded  with  an  expression  of  surprise.  I  fol- 
lowed Milly  into  the  house  with  a  sinking  heart. 
More  than  once  an  insane  desire  to  escape  gripped 
me.  Should  I  turn  and  rush  for  the  open,  recap- 
ture the  porter's  bicycle,  and  pedal  like  mad  to- 
wards the  railway  station  and  London?  But  such 
a  course  would  hardly  be  a  dignified  one,  and,  be- 
sides, was  I  not  under  terms  of  alliance  with 
Milly?  Never,  never,  would  I  leave  her  to  face 
[15.7] 


THE    TRIFLER 

her  father's  wrath  alone.  Full  of  this  chivalrous 
resolve,  I  followed  her  boldly  into  the  hall. 

"  We  usually  have  tea  here,"  she  said,  and  rang 
a  bell.  "  I  wonder  where  Molly  is?  "  she  added 
absently,  peeling  off  her  gloves.  "  I  must  go  and 
find  her." 

"Is  it  necessary?  "  I  asked. 

"  You  had  better  see  her  before — before  father 
gets  back."  She  screwed  her  face  up  ruefully. 
"  Isn't  all  this  simply  horrid?" 

"  It's  disgusting,"  said  I,  with  emphasis.  The 
servant  brought  in  the  tea,  and  Milly  poured  me 
out  a  cup.  "  I  am  afraid  you  must  be  starving," 
she  said.  "  Toast  or  tea-cake?  " 

I  decided  for  tea-cake,  helping  myself  largely, 
for  I  had  had  no  lunch.  She  poured  out  a  cup  of 
tea  for  herself  and  drank  it  slowly,  still  standing. 
Her  eyes  for  an  instant  smiled  at  me  over  the  rim. 

"  What  a  blessing  tea  is  1  "  she  said  almost 
cheerfully.  "  I  feel  better  already.  Have  another 
cup?" 

I  had  another  cup.  "  This  tea-cake  is  helping 
me  a  lot,"  I  observed,  with  my  mouth  full.  "  Do 
try  it." 

So  she  tried  it.    I  begged  her  to  sit  down. 

"  I  feel  quite  tired,"  she  observed  plaintively, 
"  but  I  simply  must  go  and  find  Molly."  There 
[158] 


MILLY 

was  a  comfortable  armchair  by  her  side,  and  she 
looked  at  it  longingly. 

I  was  leaning  back  at  ease  in  my  own  chair. 
"Why  not  rest  for  a  minute  or  two?"  I  sug- 
gested. 

She  poured  herself  out  another  cup.  "  Well, 
just  while  I  drink  this." 

I  placed  the  plate  containing  the  tea-cake 
on  a  little  table  between  us,  and  we  sat  and 
ate. 

"  It's  lovely  sitting  here,"  she  observed  dream- 
ily, "  and  I  am  certain  I  feel  happier." 

"  So  do  I." 

She  turned  to  me  confidentially.  "  What  a 
pity  Molly  can't  be  reasonable." 

My  eyes  were  on  Milly's  face,  but  a  movement 
of  the  heavy  curtains  shrouding  the  window  re- 
cess at  the  far  end  of  the  hall  attracted  my  atten- 
tion. My  gaze  wandered  away  from  Milly's 
pretty  face  and  the  rose-bud  mouth  that  bit  at  a  tea- 
cake  with  little  white  teeth.  I  distinctly  saw  a 
hand  arrange  the  hangings,  with  the  evident  inten- 
tion of  more  carefully  concealing  the  inmate  from 
view. 

"  So  Molly  isn't  likely  to  be  reasonable  ? "  I 
asked  absently. 

"  Molly  is  the  sweetest,  dearest  girl  in  all  the 
[159] 


THE    TRIFLER 

world,"   replied   Milly,   "  but — she  can  only  see 
one  side  at  a  time." 

"  And  in  this  case,  it  is  the  side  not  favorable  to 
me?" 

"  She  is  very  fond  of  Gilbert,"  she  answered. 
"  I  am  also  very  fond  of  Gilbert,  but  not  ridicu- 
lously fond.  And,  of  course,  you  got  him  into  no 
end  of  a  scrape.  It  is  not  nice  to  have  your  allow- 
ance cut  off." 

"  But  that  is  all  over  now,"  I  interposed 
hastily. 

"  Molly  is  angry  with  you  for  getting  Gil- 
bert into  trouble.  It  may  not  have  been  your 
fault." 

"  I  am  afraid  it  was,"  I  said  penitently. 

"  Well,  but  you  have  a  defense,  you  know?  " 

"Oh,  yes,"  I  replied,  with  a  sudden  hope; 
11  heaps  of  defenses." 

"  That  won't  make  any  difference,  so  far  as 
Molly  is  concerned,"  said  Milly  cruelly.  "  She 
only  takes  in  'one  idea  at  a  time.  And  the  fact  of 
your  having  got  Gilbert  into  trouble  is  quite 
enough  to  make  her  go  on  hating  you  for  ever 
and  ever." 

"Oh,  heavens!"  I  exclaimed,  with  an  eye  on 
the  curtains,  which  were  twitching  uneasily,  "surely 
it  is  not  so  bad  as  all  that." 
[160] 


MILLY 

"  Molly  never  changes."  Milly  rose  slowly. 
"  I  must  go  and  find  her.  Will  you  wait  here 
while  I  go  and  fetch  her?  " 

I  hesitated  a  moment.  Should  I  tell  Milly  that 
I  believed  her  sister  was  concealed  in  the  window 
recess  ?  I  decided,  on  the  whole,  it  would  be  wiser 
to  go  through  my  first  interview  with  my  hostess 
without  spectators;  it  might  prove  less  trying  to 
my  pride.  As  soon  as  Milly  had  disappeared,  I 
tip-toed  across  the  hall,  and  drew  back  the  cur- 
tans.  Molly — for  it  was  she,  indeed — rose  from 
her  seat,  her  face  the  color  of  the  sunset. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  I  said,  "  I  was  just  going 
to — look  at  the — the  landscape."  I  held  back  the 
curtains,  one  in  each  hand,  and  began  to  chatter 
volubly  of  summer  beauties.  Molly  was  inclosed 
within  the  recess,  and  could  only  escape  by  ducking 
under  my  arm.  She  stood  perfectly  still  and  looked 
out  of  the  window.  I  talked  on,  not  daring  to  stop, 
but,  at  length,  I  had  not  a  word  left  to  say.  So  I 
was  silent.  She  turned  as  if  to  go,  but  I  did  not 
drop  my  arms.  She  stopped,  nonplused. 

"  Mr.  Trewint,"  she  said  at  length,  "  will  you 
kindly  allow  me  to  pass?  " 

I  stood  aside.  "  I  beg  your  pardon,"  I  mur- 
mured, and  bowed.  At  any  rate  she  had  spoken 
to  me. 

[161] 


THE    TRIFLER 

She  passed  out  with  great  dignity  and  made 
straight  for  the  staircase.  I  followed  her. 

"  Miss  Telby,"  I  said,  "  may  I  say  a  single 
word  to  you  ?  " 

She  moved  more  quickly  for  a  couple  of  paces, 
and  then  stopped  and  turned  coldly  towards  me. 

"  I — I  saw  your  brother  yesterday."  She 
frowned.  I  hurried  on.  "  I  apologized  to  him 
most  sincerely."  She  opened  her  lips  as  if  to  speak, 
and  then  closed  them.  "  I  want  to  ask  you  to  tell 
me  what  else  I  can  do  to  show  my  sincere  regret." 

She  hesitated.  "  You — you  admit,  then,  that 
Gilbert  did  not  make  a  mistake?  " 

I  bowed  my  head.    "  Gilbert  made  no  mistake." 

"  You  own,"  she  continued,  with  a  distinct  note 
of  triumph  in  her  voice,  "  that  you  were  the 
thief?" 

I  had  to  think  before  answering.  "  I  own,"  I 
replied  at  last,  '*  that  if  there  was  any  thief  at  all, 
I  was  the  thief." 

My  answer  puzzled  her.  "  I  am  afraid  I  don't 
quite  know  what  that  means,"  she  said.  "  In  any 
case,  have  you  told  father?  " 

"  No,"  I  replied,  "  I  haven't." 

"  Do  you  intend  to  do  so  ?  " 

"  If  you  wish  it." 

"  Of  course  I  wish  it." 
[162] 


'Molly 


rose  from  her  seat,  her  face  the  color  of  the 
sunset." 


MILLY 

"  Gilbert  begged  me  not  to." 

My  answer  took  her  aback.  She  seemed 
greatly  astonished.  "  Gilbert  begged  you  not 
to?  "  she  queried. 

I  made  what  I  conceived  to  be  an  heroic  gesture. 
"  I  have  explained  the  matter  to  Gilbert,  and  he  is 
satisfied.  He  wants  nothing  more  to  be  said  to 
your  father,  for  he  realizes  that  he  has  been  partly 
in  error.  But  what  do  I  care  what  he  wishes,  if 
you  desire  something  different?  You  have  only 
to  say  the  word  and  I  go  to  your  father  this  very 
instant " 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  cried;  "  certainly  not,  if  Gilbert 
doesn't  wish  it." 

"  Say  but  the  word,"  I  went  on  in  the  same 
heroic  vein,  "  and  I  will  leave  the  house  this  very 
moment,  and  trouble  you  no  more  with  my  un- 
welcome presence.  Possibly  it  will  only  re-awaken 
your  father's  wrath  against  Gilbert,  but  if  it  be 
your  wish " 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  cried  again,  "  I  don't  wish  that." 

"  If  I  am  a  thief,"  I  said,  with  exaggerated  bit- 
terness, "  surely  I  am  not  worthy  to  remain  here, 
even  though  it  be  to  help  your  father  in  his  ap- 
proaching fight." 

She  did  not  know  what  to  say  or  where  to  look. 
The  teardrops  came  to  her  eyes. 
[163] 


THE    TRIFLER 

"  I  am  not  clever,"  she  murmured,  very  plain- 
tively, "  and  I  don't  understand  things.  I  dare 
say  I  have  been  wrong.  In  fact,  I  am  sure  I  have, 
if  Gilbert  says  so."  She  looked  at  me  with  her 
Madonna-like  eyes.  "  Oh,  I  hope  you  won't  go 
away.  It  will  make  father  so  angry." 

"  I  will  stay,"  I  answered,  "  if  I  may  stay  as  a 
friend  of  yours." 

The  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks.  "  I  am  sure," 
she  whispered,  "  I  need  a  clever  friend.  Things 
are  so  very  difficult,  and  I  am  never  quite  sure  what 
to  do." 

She  was  very  beautiful.  "  You  may  always  rely 
on  me  to  help  you,"  I  said  gently. 

"  Thank  you.  And  will  you  help  Gilbert,  too? 
I  am  afraid  there  is  something  wrong " 

"  In  what  way?  "  I  asked  quickly. 

She  shook  her  head.  "  I  cannot  tell,"  she  re- 
plied. "  But  since  Gilbert  has  been  living  in  town, 
he  seems  so  different.  I  can't  help  noticing  it.  He 
doesn't  seem  happy." 

"  You  are  very  fond  of  Gilbert?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course."  Her  face  was  maternal 
in  its  tenderness.  "  He  is  the  youngest  of  us,  you 
know.  When  my  mother  died,  she  left  him  in  my 
charge.  And  so,  of  course " 

"  I  understand,"  I  replied.  I  held  out  my  hand. 
[164] 


MILLY 

"  We  are  friends,  aren't  we?  " 

She  smiled.    "  You  and  I  and  Gilbert."'' 

"  And  Milly." 

"  Oh,  yes,  and  Milly,"  she  indorsed  heartily. 

I  held  her  hand.  "  You  forgive  me  all  the  pain  I 
have  caused  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  And  you  will  forgive  me  for  being 
— stupid?" 

I  ventured  to  raise  her  hand  to  my  lips.  She  was 
very  beautiful,  and  the  action  was  in  the  vein  I 
had  adopted.  She  blushed,  and  then  started  vio- 
lently. I  turned  to  discover  Mr.  Telby  at  the  door 
with  his  eyes  on  us.  At  the  same  moment  Milly 
came  running  down  the  stairs. 

That  Mr.  Telby  did  not  there  and  then  dig  me 
in  the  ribs  is  an  omission  for  which  I  have  to  be 
thankful.  For  his  astonishing  good  humor  during 
the  evening  the  household  were  undoubtedly  grate- 
ful, coming  as  it  did  after  a  week  of  storm.  I  un- 
derstood the  reason,  and  it  filled  me  with  vague  ap- 
prehensions of  future  complications.  But  when  the 
sun  shines  it  is  useless  to  concern  one's  self  with 
approaching  thunder-clouds.  For  that  evening  we 
basked  in  the  sunshine  of  Mr.  Telby's  geniality, 
tacitly  agreeing  to  make  the  most  of  it  while  it 
lasted. 

1 165  ] 


CHAPTER   X 

VICARS'  SERMON 

THE  whole  household  was  nonplused  by 
the  remarkable  transformation  my  advent 
had  occasioned  in  Mr.  Telby's  temper. 
The  change  continued  over  the  evening  of  my  ar- 
rival and  through  breakfast-time  next  morning, 
always  a  critical  period.  It  continued  during  the 
forenoon,  and,  on  the  strength  of  it,  the  under-foot- 
man  asked  for  a  rise  in  his  wages,  and  got  it.  His 
two  daughters,  to  whom  the  sudden  calm  was  less 
explicable  than  to  myself,  put  it  down  to  my  pleas- 
ing personality.  They  told  me  this,  and  I  smiled 
ambiguously,  hoping  they  would  not  be  undeceived, 
for  I  could  hardly  explain  that  their  father's  good 
humor  was  due  to  the  fact  that  he  had  caught  me 
kissing  his  elder  daughter's  hand. 

When  I  happened  to  be  alone  with  Mr.  Telby 
and  Molly,  he  would  remember  engagements  with 
such  artless  artifice  that  I  was  kept  continually  on 
thorns.  If  the  two  girls  and  I  were  together,  a 
servant  would  be  certain  to  appear  and  summon 
Milly  away.  Now,  Molly  was  certainly  very  beau- 
[167] 


THE    TRIFLER 

tiful,  but  her  conversational  powers  were  limited, 
and  after  being  forced  to  spend  the  best  part  of 
some  days  in  her  company,  I  began  to  feel  happier 
at  a  distance. 

It  is  useless  to  disguise  the  fact  that  the  younger 
sister  charmed  me  mightily,  and  if  I  had  been 
allowed  to  dance  attendance  on  her  at  my  own 
sweet  will,  I  should  thoroughly  have  enjoyed  my 
stay  at  Dewhurst.  But  it  was  not  to  be.  Molly 
would  sit  in  state  in  the  drawing  room,  her  hands 
folded  in  her  lap,  her  thoughts  seemingly  miles 
away,  while  Milly  went  busily  to  and  fro  on  house- 
hold duties.  I  would  saunter  out  upon  the  terrace 
and  smoke  innumerable  cigarettes,  deciding  moodily 
that  I  was  being  terribly  bored. 

"  Let  us  go  and  play  billiards,"  I  suggested  one 
day. 

Molly  came  down  from  the  clouds.  "  But  it 
is  Sunday,"  she  objected. 

"  So  it  is,"  I  returned  tamely.     "  I  forgot." 

"  It  will  be  very  soon  time  to  get  ready  for 
Chapel." 

I  brightened  up.  "  I  shall  be  quite  glad  to  go 
to  Chapel,  or  anywhere,"  I  said.  "  It  will  be 
something  to  do." 

We  had  breakfasted  at  eight — a  ridiculous  hour 
for  the  Sabbath,  and  the  interval  between  eight  and 
[168] 


VICARS'    SERMON 

eleven  was  a  long  one.     I  looked  at  my  watch,  it 
was  hardly  ten. 

"  What  time  do  you  start?  "  I  asked. 

"  About  half-past  ten." 

"Who  preaches?" 

"  Mr.  Vicars."  Her  face  took  a  warmer  color, 
and  I  imagined  a  happy  little  smile  played  about 
her  lips. 

"  You  are  going,  I  suppose?  "  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  yes."  She  did  not  seem  anxious  to  talk. 
Possibly  she  was  wandering  in  a  happy  dreamland 
with  Mr.  Vicars. 

"Do  you  like  him?"  I  asked  suddenly.  She 
started  and  reddened,  gazing  at  me  with  the  eyes 
of  a  frightened  fawn. 

"  As  a  preacher,  I  mean,"  I  added  in  haste. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  very  much,"  she  answered,  in  some 
confusion. 

Then  we  were  again  silent.  But  I  cherished  no 
further  doubt  that  she  was  in  love  with  the  gaunt 
parson. 

When  Mr.  Telby  came  he  was  dressed  in  a  black 
frock-coat  and  trousers. 

"  Ah,  Trewint,"  he  observed,  "  I  suppose  you 
won't  be  coming  to  Chapel  with  us?  " 

"  On  the  contrary,"  I  returned,  "  I  should  like 
to  do  so." 

[169] 


THE    TRIFLER 

"  I  shall  be  glad  if  you  will.  It  will  have  a 
good  effect."  He  eyed  my  tweed  clothes. 

"  I  will  change  at  once." 

"  There's  plenty  of  time.  It's  barely  half  an 
hour's  drive.  By  the  way,  I  suppose  you  know 
we're  not  church  folk." 

"Oh,  yes." 

"  I  have  sometimes  thought,"  he  said  thought- 
fully, "  of  going  over  to  the  Established  Church. 
I  may  yet  do  it  some  day.  The  self-sufficiency  of 
our  Nonconformist  ministers  is  intolerable.  But, 
of  course,  until  the  election " 

"  By  the  way,  I  know  your  minister.  We  were 
at  Oxford  together,"  I  interposed  rather  abruptly. 

He  raised  his  eyebrows.  "  Indeed !  "  And 
then  I  saw  he  was  thinking  how  he  could  turn  the 
fact  to  his  advantage.  "  Were  you  at  all  inti- 
mate?" 

"  No;  I  can't  say  we  were." 

"  You  would  not  be.  You  would  not  be."  He 
scratched  the  topmost  point  of  his  head  delicately 
with  a  forefinger.  "  Vicars,"  he  continued,  "  is  a 
curious,  not  to  say  a  difficult,  man.  I  confess  he 
has  disappointed  me.  When  he  came  here,  I 
offered  him  every  hospitality  in  my  power.  He 
came  to  my  house  frequently.  And  then " 

I  glanced  towards  Molly.  Her  face  was 
[170] 


VICARS'    SERMON 

troubled.  She  rose,  and  with  gentle  dignity 
walked  towards  the  door.  Her  father  waited  till 
it  closeo!  upon  her. 

"  And  then,"  he  resumed,  "  he  came  to  me  and 
asked  permission  to  pay  his  addresses  to — to  one 
of  my  daughters." 

"  Oh,  indeed." 

"  His  salary  is  exactly  four  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds — four  hundred  and  fifty  pounds !  " 

"  Very  handsome,  indeed,"  I  rejoined,  not 
knowing  the  line  I  was  expected  to  take. 

"  I  agree,"  replied  Mr.  Telby  impressively. 
"  Most  handsome.  If  I  may  say  so  without  vanity, 
it  would  hardly  be  so  much  but  for  my  contribu- 
tions to  the  funds  of  the  Chapel." 

"Really?" 

"  But  surely,  Mr.  Trewint,  my  daughters  may 
not  unreasonably  expect  to  marry  men  with  larger 
incomes,  or — some  equivalent  advantage  ?  " 

"  No  doubt." 

"  Vicars  took  my  refusal  badly,  very  badly.  It 
may  turn  out  to  be  an  unfortunate  incident,  in  view 
of  the  election.  At  the  moment,  I  am  entirely 
ignorant  what  attitude  he  will  assume." 

"  I  understand  he  is  a  great  fighter?  " 

"You  are  alluding  to  the  last  election?  I  do 
not  wish  to  use  harsh  language,  but  I  strongly 


THE    TRIFLER 

deprecate  a  minister  of  the  Gospel  taking  part  in  a 
purely  political  contest.  It  is  not  his  function.  I 
pointed  this  out  to  him  on  the  last  occasion,  but  he 
could  not  see  it." 

11  All  the  same,"  I  said,  "  if  he  were  on  our  side, 
I  am  told,  it  would  be  a  great  help." 

Mr.  Telby  blew  his  nose.  "  It  would.  Con- 
sidering what  I  have  done  for  the  Chapel,  I  con- 
fess I  cannot  see  how  in  common  decency  he  can 
oppose  me.  Again,  his  creed  is  '  men,  not 
measures.'  On  that  score,  also,  I  should  command 
his  support." 

"  He  may  be  with  us  then?  " 

"  He  may,"  said  Mr.  Telby  hopefully.  "  It 
was  my  intention  before  another  election  to  get 
the  congregation  to  pass  a  resolution  forbidding 
Mr.  Vicars  to  interfere  in  political  matters.  I 
did  not  then  know  that  Providence  would  so 
shortly  call  on  me  to  stand  as  a  candidate.  I  have 
stayed  my  hand  because  I  felt  sure  he  could  only 
enlist  on  my  side." 

"  I  see." 

"  I  can  only  say,"  went  on  Mr.  Telby  warmly, 
"  that  if  he  opposes  me,  it  will  be  gross  ingratitude. 
If  he  is  so  ill-advised,  my  course  is  clear.  I  shall 
leave  the  Chapel  and  go  elsewhere,  or — he  must." 

As  I  went  to  my  room  to  change  my  clothes, 
[  172  1 


VICARS'    SERMON 

I  could  not  help  realizing  that  Mr.  Telby  did  not 
regard  the  matter  from  a  high  standpoint. 

At  half-past  ten  punctually  the  carriage  drove 
to  the  door,  and  we  took  our  places.  Behind  a 
pair  of  beautiful  bays  we  bowled  smoothly  over  the 
road.  Milly  sat  at  my  side,  and  my  eyes  rested  on 
Molly,  who  sat  opposite.  What  more  could  man 
desire?  A  curious  little  incident  occurred  in  the 
course  of  our  drive.  In  drawing  her  handkerchief 
from  her  pocket,  Milly  drew  out  a  little  three- 
cornered  note,  which  fell  at  my  feet.  I  picked  it 
up  mechanically  and  could  not  help  noticing  it  was 
addressed  to  Vicars.  I  should  have  returned  it 
to  Milly  without  comment,  if  I  had  not  noticed  that 
her  sister  was  unaccountably  agitated.  Almost 
instinctively  I  covered  the  note  with  my  hand. 
Mr.  Telby  had  been  affably  bowing  to  the  inmates 
of  a  trap  passing  at  the  moment,  and  had  not 
witnessed  the  incident.  As  Milly  made  no  move- 
ment to  reclaim  the  note,  I  guessed  she  did  not 
wish  her  father  to  see  it,  so  I  slipped  it  into  my 
pocket,  turning  to  her  for  approval.  She  gave  a 
quick  nod,  and  I  observed  that  Molly's  color  came 
back. 

The  Chapel  was  a  large  stone  building,  with  no 
pretensions  to  architectural  beauty.  A  bill  posted 
on  each  side  of  the  entrance  announced  that  the 

[173] 


THE    TRIFLER 

Rev.  Mr.  Vicars  would  preach  on  "  The  Duty  of 
Electors."  In  the  vestibule  black-coated  gentle- 
men were  standing,  who  bowed  gravely  as  we 
entered.  We  all  returned  the  bow,  and  Mr. 
Telby  also  shook  hands.  Then  he  leading  the 
way,  his  daughters  following,  and  I  in  the  rear, 
walked  slowly  up  the  tile-paved  aisle,  almost  to 
the  elevated  platform  which  took  the  place  of  the 
pulpit;  then,  turning  to  the  right,  we  passed  into  a 
cushioned  pew  against  the  wall.  Mr.  Telby  stood 
aside  while  Milly  entered.  I  went  in  next,  and 
Molly  followed  me.  Mr.  Telby  took  the  corner 
seat,  shutting  the  pew  door  with  a  decisive 
click. 

After  taking  my  seat,  I  fixed  my  eye-glass  to 
take  a  look  at  my  surroundings.  I  was  discon- 
certed to  find  that  the  whole  congregation  were 
looking  at  me.  I  dropped  my  eye-glass  and 
opened  a  hymnbook,  not  daring  to  encounter  this 
concentrated  gaze.  When  I  had  read  a  hymn 
through,  it  occurred  to  me  that  Milly  might  think  I 
was  priggish,  so  I  shut  the  book  and  turned  to 
glean  encouragement  from  her.  She  merely 
pushed  various  books  of  devotion  towards  me, 
which  I  meekly  accepted. 

In  a  few  minutes  Mr.  Vicars  ascended  the  plat- 
form. He  gave  out  a  hymn,  which  was  sung 

[174] 


VICARS'    SERMON 

heartily  to  the  accompaniment  of  an  excellent 
organ,  played  so  loudly  that  it  caused  the  congre- 
gation to  shout.  A  prayer  followed,  which  im- 
pressed me  by  its  extreme  fervor  and  by  the 
potency  of  its  imagery.  For  the  first  time,  I  ap- 
preciated the  fact  that  extemporaneous  prayer 
from  the  mouth  of  a  capable  man  is  one  of  the 
strong  points  of  the  Nonconformist  mode  of  wor- 
ship. Then  the  Scriptures  were  read,  too  dra- 
matically, it  seemed  to  me,  though  I  must  admit 
that  I  am  no  judge.  Mr.  Vicars  read  as  a  trained 
actor  might,  making  the  most  of  every  phrase. 
This  may  be  a  merit,  though  I  do  not  think  so. 

When  he  anounced  as  his  theme  the  subject 
stated  on  the  bills  at  the  chapel  door,  the  congrega- 
tion rustled  gently,  and  settled  down  to  listen.  He 
commenced  by  defending  the  right  of  the  pulpit  to 
deal  with  secular  matters,  and  defended  it  very 
ably,  though  it  seemed  to  me  that  his  argument  was 
based  on  a  fallacy.  He  assumed  that  every  con- 
troversial question  has  only  two  alternative  solu- 
tions,— a  right  one  and  a  wrong  one.  Assuming 
this,  and  it  means  assuming  a  good  deal,  it  is 
plainly  the  duty  of  a  Christian  minister  to  use  his 
influence  in  favor  of  the  righteous  solution. 

Having  demonstrated  this  to  his  satisfaction,  he 
went  off  at  a  tangent,  and  argued  that  a  righteous 
[175] 


THE    TRIFLER 

electorate  must  not,  under  any  circumstances,  vote 
for  an  unrighteous  man. 

He  then  entered  upon  a  careful  disquisition  as 
to  what  "  righteousness  "  meant.  Having  ex- 
plained at  considerable  length  what  the  term  in- 
ferred— and  it  seemed  to  be  little  less  than  absolute 
perfection — he  admitted  that  the  electorate  could 
not  see  into  the  candidates'  hearts.  This  being  so, 
they  must  judge  by  their  acts.  The  preacher  im- 
plied that  it  was  the  duty  of  every  elector  to  con- 
duct a  microscopic  inquiry  into  the  candidates'  past 
careers.  They  were  not  to  be  led  away  by  riches. 
They  were  not  to  be  seduced  by  the  glamour  of 
great  names.  (Here  some  of  the  congregation 
eyed  me  rather  sternly.)  Their  duty  was  not  to 
men,  but  to  Heaven,  whose  cause  they  advanced 
by  the  choice  of  a  suitable  candidate. 

Having  laid  down  these  general  principles,  he 
stated  he  would  not  apply  them  to  the  particular 
problem  which  was  that  day  confronting  his 
hearers.  Each  man  must  solve  it  for  himself.  I 
glanced  at  Mr.  Telby,  and  saw  that  his  face  be- 
tokened disappointment.  During  the  preliminary 
remarks  of  the  preacher,  his  face  had  beamed  with 
modest  self-complacency.  I  saw  that  he  felt  as- 
sured he  squared  exactly  with  the  definition  of  a 
"  righteous  candidate."  It  had  evidently  not  oc- 
[  176  ] 


VICARS'    SERMON 

curred  to  him  that  the  preacher  might  hold  a  dif- 
ferent opinion.  Evidently  he  expected  to  be 
crowned  as  "  righteous"  before  the  whole  congre- 
gation; but  he  was  shortly  to  suffer  a  severe  dis- 
illusionment. 

Mr.  Vicars,  having  remarked  that  each  man 
must  make  his  own  application  of  the  general 
principles  which  he  had  laid  down,  immediately 
began  to  apply  them  in  terms  that  were  not  even 
slightly  ambiguous.  "  Suppose,"  he  said,  "  one  of 
the  two  candidates  was  a  large  employer  of  labor, 
and  it  was  common  knowledge  that  he  treated  his 
employees  with  harshness,  sending  helpless  women 
and  children  to  the  workhouse  and  unhappy  men  to 
prison,  would  that  be  righteous?  Certainly  not. 
Would  they  be  justified  in  voting  for  such  a  man  ? 
By  no  means." 

The  eyes  of  the  whole  congregation  were  now 
riveted  on  Mr.  Telby,  whose  face  was  aflame. 
The  allusion  was  obvious,  though  hardly  a  fair  one. 
A  few  months  previously  there  had  been  a  lock-out 
at  Mr.  Telby's  works.  The  difficulty  was  in 
reference  to  the  employment  of  non-unionists, 
whose  cause  Mr.  Telby  had  supported  with  success. 
There  had  been  some  cases  of  intimidation,  and, 
under  a  recent  Act,  Mr.  Telby  had  prosecuted, 
with  the  result  that  one  or  two  workmen  had  been 
[177] 


THE    TRIFLER 

sent  to  prison.  No  doubt,  too,  there  had  been 
instances  of  privation.  There  are  few  labor  dis- 
putes which  do  not  bring  want  in  their  train. 

The  charge  of  oppression  might  have  passed 
muster  on  a  political  platform,  for  no  one  expects 
absolute  fairness  in  the  rough-and-tumble  of  a 
Parliamentary  contest,  but  to  use  the  pulpit  for  a 
charge  of  this  nature,  to  which  plainly  there  was 
another  side,  while  the  unhappy  victim  sat  tongue- 
tied  below,  was  surely  an  outrage.  Mr.  Vicars, 
however,  had  worked  himself  into  a  passion,  and, 
discarding  all  notes,  was  preaching  extemporane- 
ously, carried  away  by  his  own  eloquence.  It  was 
to  be  my  turn  next. 

"  Suppose,"  he  went  on,  "  one  of  the  two  candi- 
dates, knowing  that  there  was  a  family  in  the 
neighborhood  whose  name,  rightly  or  wrongly,  was 
held  in  high  honor,  having  failed  to  get  the  assist- 
ance of  the  reputable  head  of  that  family,  and 
desirous  of  influencing  unthinking  people,  was  to 
obtain  the  services  of  another  member  of  the  same 
family,  well  knowing  him  to  be  a  foolish,  vain, 
immoral  trifler,  who  saw  not  nor  cared  for  the 
seriousness  of  life,  who  lived  for  himself  alone, 
who  laughed  at  the  earnest  and  mocked  at  the  holy, 
would  that  be  the  act  of  a  righteous  man  ?  Should 
a  candidate  who  was  content  to  use  such  a  tool 
[178] 


VICARS'    SERMON 

receive  the  suffrages  of  a  sincere  and  honest  elec- 
torate ?  " 

I  listened  to  this  tirade  with  intense  astonish- 
ment. His  criticisms  certainly  did  not  square  with 
my  conceptions  of  my  own  conduct  or  character. 
It  was  a  new  view,  and,  naturally,  interesting.  I 
looked  up  to  him  on  the  platform,  as  with  im- 
passioned face  and  blazing  eyes  he  poured  out  his 
flood  of  rhetoric,  and  shook  his  clenched  fist  in  our 
direction.  I  stole  a  glance  at  Milly;  she  was 
staring  at  the  desk  in  front  of  her,  her  lips 
pressed  together,  and  her  brow  furrowed  with 
a  frown. 

At  that  moment  Mr.  Telby  created  a  diversion 
by  diving  for  his  hat. 

"  I  am  going  out,"  he  said  in  an  audible  whisper. 
"  I  refuse  to  listen  to  any  more  rant.  The  man  is 
mad.  You  must  all  come  with  me." 

So  saying,  he  rose,  opened  the  door  of  the  pew, 
and,  bristling  with  indignation  and  breathing 
heavily,  passed  down  the  aisle.  The  heads  of  the 
congregation  turned  simultaneously  towards  him  as 
he  passed,  and  the  spontaneous  movement  gave  the 
impression  of  a  zephyr  rippling  over  a  field  of 
corn.  The  preacher  continued  his  harangue  with- 
out pausing. 

I  made  no  move  to  follow  Mr.  Telby,  deciding 
[179] 


THE    TRIFLER 

that,  even  if  the  provocation  were  double,  I  would 
prefer  to  bear  it  rather  than  walk  down  that  long 
aisle.  The  two  girls  also  sat  still.  Molly  looked 
white  and  agitated,  and  watched  Vicars  with  a  per- 
plexed expression  as  if  she  hardly  comprehended 
the  situation.  No  sooner  had  the  green  baize 
doors  of  the  Chapel  closed  on  Mr.  Telby  than  Mr. 
Vicars  seemed  to  lose  the  thread  of  his  discourse; 
he  stammered,  grew  slightly  incoherent,  and  then, 
with  an  obvious  effort,  concluded  his  sermon  with- 
out further  personal  allusions.  I  think  most  people 
breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  when  he  gave  out  the 
closing  hymn. 

While  the  congregation  labored  through  it,  Mr. 
Vicars  sat  with  his  hands  covering  his  face. 
When  the  hymn  was  ended  he  uttered  the  Benedic- 
tion, and  immediately  left  the  pulpit. 

As  I  collected  my  hat,  stick,  and  gloves,  I 
ventured  to  glance  at  Milly.  She  met  my  look 
without  speaking. 

"  I  expect  father  is  waiting  for  us  outside,"  said 
Molly.  "  Oughtn't  we  to  hurry  out  ?  " 

"  No,  no;  let  the  crowd  clear  away  first,"  I  re- 
turned hastily.  I  was  anxious  to  avoid  discussing 
the  incident  with  strangers. 

Milly  still  frowned  thoughtfully.  The  con- 
gregation filed  out  slowly,  casting  curious  glances 
[180] 


VICARS'    SERMON 

in  our  direction.  For  my  part,  I  took  some  pains 
to  appear  cheerful  and  unconcerned. 

Just  as  we  were  rising  to  leave,  the  Chapel  at- 
tendant aproached  me. 

"  Mr.  Vicars,"  he  said,  with  an  air  of  some 
mystery,  "  will  be  greatly  obliged  if  you  will  step 
into  the  vestry  for  a  minute." 

I  hesitated,  and  turned,  naturally  enough,  to 
Milly. 

"  Shall  I  go?  "  I  asked  her.  "  What  do  you 
think?" 

She  did  not  answer  for  a  moment.  "  Please 
go,"  she  replied  at  length.  "  He  may  wish  to — 
to  explain." 

So  I  followed  the  man  into  a  small  inner  room, 
in  which  I  found  Mr.  Vicars  sitting.  He  was  pale 
and  seemed  weary,  and  I  noticed  his  hands 
trembled. 

He  half  rose.  "  I  shall  not  detain  you  more 
than  a  minute,  Mr.  Trewint,"  he  began.  "  I  am 
indebted  to  you  for  your  courtesy  in  coming  here  at 
my  request." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  I  said,  "  I  am  glad  to  have 
an  opportunity  of  congratulating  you  on  your  ad- 
mirable sermon." 

He  was  silent.  **  I  sent  for  you,"  he  resumed  at 
length,  "  because  I  realize  I  have  been  untrue  to  a 
[181] 


THE    TRIFLER 

great  trust.  I  made  an  attack  on  you  this  morning 
from  motives  which  were  not  pure.  My  personal 
feelings  overcame  me.  I  was  angry,  jealous,  sick 
at  heart,  and  I  allowed  myself  to  be  carried  away. 
When  I  entered  the  pulpit  I  had  no  intention  of 
attacking  you.  But  the  words  came,  and  I  did  not 
stop  to  think.  As  soon  as  they  were  uttered,  I 
knew  they  were  prompted  by  motives  which  were 
unworthy." 

I  softened  at  once.  "  Of  course,  Mr.  Vicars," 
I  said,  "  we  are  all  liable  to  be  carried  off  our  feet 
by  our  feelings.  And  some  people  do  take  politics 
so  very  seriously.  But  please  say  nothing  more. 
I  am  quite  willing  to  accept  your  frank  explana- 
tion." 

He  made  no  immediate  reply,  but  stared 
gloomily  in  front  of  him.  So  I  gave  him  a 
friendly  nod,  and  was  preparing  to  leave  the  room, 
when  he  stopped  me. 

"  Pray  understand,"  he  said  stiffly,  "  that  I  do 
not  withdraw  a  single  word.  Everything  I  have 
said  it  was  my  duty  to  say." 

"  Bless  my  soul,"  I  exclaimed,  "  I  thought  you 
had  just  apologized !  " 

"  I  hardly  expect  you  to  understand  me,"  he 
returned.  "  But  all  I  have  said  to-day  I  was  justi- 
fied in  saying;  nay,  more,  bound  to  say.  The  more 
[182] 


VICARS'    SERMON 

I  consider  it,  the  more  I  feel  that  I  was  perform- 
ing a  duty.  But,"  he  raised  his  eyes  to  the  ceiling, 
"  may  Heaven  forgive  me,  I  spoke  not  because  it 
was  my  duty  to  speak,  but  because  I  was  swayed  by 
personal  enmity." 

"  This  is  quite  enigmatical,"  I  observed. 

"  I  can  well  understand,"  he  replied,  "  that  any- 
thing that  does  not  float  on  the  surface  of  a  man's 
soul  is  an  enigma  to  you." 

I  ignored  his  observation,  possibly  because  I 
had  no  answer  ready.  "  If  I  remember  rightly," 
I  said,  "you  stated  I  was  immoral;  the  other 
epithets  may  pass.  Do  you  usually  hurl  such  ac- 
cusations from  the  pulpit  at  political  opponents  of 
whose  character  and  private  life  you  must  of 
necessity  be  absolutely  ignorant?  " 

"  I  am  not  ignorant  of  your  private  life  nor  of 
your  character,"  he  answered.  "  I  could  not  know 
them  more  completely  if  they  were  written  out  on 
paper." 

"  Have  you  proof?  " 

"Yes;  I  have  proof." 

"  Produce  it." 

"If    necessary    I    will    produce    it,    but    not 


now." 


14  This  is  hardly  satisfactory,"  I  said.     "  You 
sent  for  me  to  tell  me  you  believe  every  word  you 

[183] 


THE    TRIFLER 

uttered,  and  in  the  same  breath  that  your  motives 
were  not  pure." 

"  That  is  so." 

"  What  were  your  motives?  I  have  hardly  the 
pleasure  of  your  acquaintance.  Why  do  you  feel 
enmity  towards  me?" 

He  flushed.  "  If  you  ask  me,"  he  answered 
slowly,  "  I  must  tell  you.  We  are  competitors  for 
the  hand  of  the  same  lady;  I  without  hope,  you 
with  every  prospect  of  success." 

I  looked  at  him  with  sudden  enlightenment.  "  I 
think  you  go  too  far  in  saying  I  am  a  competitor 
for  any  lady's  hand,"  I  returned.  "  And,  in  any 
case,  how  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  have  it  from  Mr.  Telby  himself,"  he  replied. 

I  regarded  him  perplexedly.  It  was  rather  an 
awkward  position.  It  was  more  than  probable 
Mr.  Telby  had  made  some  foolish  assertion  of  the 
kind.  "  I  really  don't  think  we  can  discuss  the 
matter  longer  with  advantage,"  I  responded  at  last. 
"  As  I  understand  it,  you  persist  in  the  charges  you 
made  against  me  this  morning.  You  have  also 
relieved  your  conscience  by  confessing  you  made 
them  from  unworthy  motives.  By  a  lucky  coinci- 
dence it  appears  that  the  promptings  of  malice  and 
of  duty  alike  required  you  to  make  them.  This 
must  be  a  matter  of  great  satisfaction  to  you." 
[184] 


VICARS'    SERMON 

My  hand  was  on  the  door-knob,  when  I  remem- 
bered the  note  I  had  picked  up.  "  By  the  way,  I 
have  a  letter  for  you.  Here  it  is." 

I  left  the  room  and  joined  the  two  girls.  We 
found  that  Mr.  Telby  had  obtained  a  trap  from  the 
"  Swan  "  and  had  driven  home.  I  was  silent  as 
to  what  had  passed  during  my  interview  with 
Vicars. 


[185] 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE    PRIG    AND    THE    WORLDLING 

THROUGHOUT  the  midday  meal  at 
Dewhurst  Mr.  Telby  boiled  and  bub- 
bled, while  his  two  daughters  sat  con- 
strained and  nervous.  I  did  my  best  to  minimize 
the  whole  affair,  affecting  to  regard  it  as  a  huge 
joke.  I  even  went  out  of  my  way  to  offer  some 
kind  of  apology  for  the  parson,  thereby  earning 
a  gentle  glance  from  Molly,  though  Milly  did  not 
relax  her  thoughtful  frown. 

"  He  has  declared  himself  against  me,"  moaned 
Mr.  Telby.  "  We  must  count  on  his  antagonism." 

"  He  is  entitled  to  his  opinions,"  I  ventured. 

"  But  he  is  not  entitled  to  abuse  me  from  the 
pulpit,"  boomed  Mr.  Telby.  "  Has  he  no  grati- 
tude, no  sense  of  decency?  Can  he  have  for- 
goten  all  I  have  done  for  the  Chapel?  " 

"  Don't  you  think,"  I  suggested,  "  that  his 
attack  on  you  may  disgust  some  of  his  own  party?  " 

But  this  view  did  not  comfort  Mr.  Telby. 

**  I  start  this  campaign,"  he  said,  "  branded  as 
[187] 


THE    TRIFLER 

a  cruel  taskmaster,  whose  chief  supporter  is  a  vain, 
frivolous,  immoral  worldling.  I  beg  your  pardon, 
but  that  is  how  it  will  be  put.  It  will  do  much  to 
alienate  Nonconformist  support.  And  without 
that  support,  I  cannot  possibly  win  the  election." 

"  It  is  most  unfortunate,"  I  replied  soothingly. 

For  the  first  time  Mr.  Telby  looked  at  me  with 
critical  eyes.  I  could  easily  follow  his  train  of 
thought.  He  was  wondering  whether  I  was  a  gain 
or  a  handicap.  It  was  a  matter  of  indifference 
whether  I  was  in  fact  vain,  frivolous,  and  im- 
moral. The  question  was — should  I  attract  or 
alienate  votes? 

"  It  is  a  pity  your  brother  cannot  give  his  per- 
sonal assistance,"  he  observed. 

Milly  gave  me  a  quick  glance.  She,  too,  ap- 
preciated the  unflattering  inference. 

"  A  great  pity,"  I  echoed,  determined  not  to 
let  the  man  make  me  angry.  "  As  you  are  aware, 
I  came  here  reluctantly.  If  you  imagine  that  a 
moral  wreck  like  myself  can  only  do  you  harm,  I 
am  willing  to  leave  by  this  evening's  train." 

"  My  dear  sir,"  he  protested.  But  he  was 
evidently  still  doing  a  little  sum  in  his  head.  For 
some  minutes  he  was  engrossed  in  his  own  medita- 
tions, and,  leaving  him  to  them,  I  turned  to 
Milly. 

[188] 


PRIG    AND    WORLDLING 

"  I  hope  you  don't  think  me  too  wicked  to  be 
talked  to,"  I  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

She  smiled  with  an  effort.     *'  Oh,  no." 

"  Everyone  here  seems  to  believe  the  worst  of 
his  neighbors,"  I  went  on.  "  No  one  cares  about 
proof.  I  hope  your  magistrates  don't  convict  on 
these  principles,  or  that  your  prisons  are  com- 
modious." 

She  smiled  again  in  a  pained  way.  "What 
did  you  do  with  that  note?"  she  whispered  sud- 
denly. 

"  I  gave  it  to " 

She  nodded  quickly,  intercepting  the  last  word. 
"  Thank  you." 

Mr.  Telby,  having  considered  the  pros  and 
cons,  had  evidently  decided  in  my  favor,  for  his 
cordiality  came  back  with  a  rush.  He  beamed 
on  me. 

"  I  shall  win  yet,"  he  said  confidently,  "  with 
your  help.  We  will  show  that  young  upstart  that 
his  crew  doesn't  count  for  much  in  Trewint. 
After  all,  the  Chapel  folk  will  probably  vote 
Radical  in  any  case.  I  shall  certainly  join  the 
Established  Church  after  this." 

That  was  not  a  point  on  which  I  was  qualified  to 
offer  advice.  "  Let  me  see,"  I  said,  "  our  first 
meeting  is  on  Tuesday." 

[189] 


THE    TRIFLER 

Mr.  Telby  nodded.  "  The  other  side  have 
booked  the  Corn  Exchange  for  Monday.  It  will 
be  interesting  to  know  what  Vicars  and  his  gang 
say.  They'll  have  my  address  to  consider;  they 
won't  get  much  change  out  of  that." 

I  thought  of  the  verbose  document  with  some 
dread.  It  seemed  to  me  to  offer  plenty  of  scope 
for  attack. 

"  Perhaps  not,"  I  replied  cautiously. 

"  By  the  way,  can  you  attend  a  Committee  meet- 
ing to-morrow  in  the  town?  " 

"  Oh,  certainly;  my  time  is  yours." 

"  And  what  are  you  young  people  going  to  do 
this  afternoon?  "  he  asked,  turning  genially  to  his 
daughters.  "  Of  course,  Milly,  you  will  not  go 
to  the  Sunday  school  after  what  has  happened 
to-day." 

"  Very  well,  father,"  replied  his  younger  daugh- 
ter, with  meekness. 

Mr.  Telby  rose  from  his  chair.  "  I  think, 
Molly,  you  might  show  Mr.  Trewint  the  ruins." 

There  was  a  distressing  silence  for  a  moment. 
"  I — I  have  a  headache,  father,"  said  Molly. 

Her  father  frowned  ominously.  Milly  inter- 
vened quickly.  "  If  Mr.  Trewint  will  accept  me 
as  a  substitute " 

'*!  shall  be  delighted,"  I  replied,  with  heartiness. 
[  190] 


PRIG    AND    WORLDLING 

Mr.  Telby  did  not  seem  satisfied,  but  he  could 
say  nothing,  and  retired  to  his  study,  while  Milly 
and  I  prepared  for  our  walk. 

When  she  was  rea-dy  she  joined  me  in  the 
garden.  Leaving  the  house  on  our  left,  we  passed 
through  the  park  and  emerged  into  a  country  lane. 
Crossing  this,  we  followed  a  little  pathway  lead- 
ing through  a  plantation. 

"  This  is  the  shortest  way,"  said  Milly.  "  I 
hope  you  don't  expect  to  see  anything  very  wonder- 
ful. It  is  only  an  old  abbey." 

"  Old  abbeys  are  most  interesting." 

"  Well,  this  one  isn't.  Most  of  it  has  been 
cleared  away  to  build  workmen's  cottages,  and 
the  part  that  remains  has  resolved  itself  into  a  heap 
of  stones." 

"  But  there  are  some  rather  nice  wild  straw- 
berries there,"  I  said,  "  and  they  should  be  ripe." 

Milly  stared.  "How  did  you  know  that?" 
And  then  she  gave  a  little  laugh.  "  Of  course, 
this  is  your  ancestral  home.  I  shouldn't  be  sur- 
prised if  the  abbey  belongs  to  your  brother." 

"  I  believe  it  does." 

She  flushed  slightly.  "  It  was  rather  silly  of 
us  to  offer  to  show  you  something  you  know  ever 
so  much  better  than  we  do.  But  for  the  moment  I 
quite  forgot,  and  I  suppose  father  did  so  too. 


THE    TRIFLER 

Instead  of  going  to  the  abbey,  let  us  walk  through 
Dunmore  Glen — it  is  so  pretty." 

"Very  well,"  I  assented;  and  we  turned  off  to 
the  right. 

"  It's  your  own  fault,"  she  went  on.  "  Why  is 
it  you  never  come  to  Trewint?  It  is  difficult  to 
associate  you  with  the  place." 

"  Well,  you  know,"  I  explained,  "  before  my 
brother  married,  Trewint  Hall  was  mostly  shut  up. 
A  single  man  doesn't  want  to  live  in  a  great  barrack 
of  a  place.  But  I  dare  say  things  will  be  dif- 
ferent now." 

"  I  suppose  Lady  Trewint  is  very  charming." 

"  Oh,  very." 

We  strolled  along  silently.  I  was  the  first  to 
speak. 

"  I  have  been  wondering  what  you  think  about 
that  unfortunate  affair  this  morning.  I  can't  make 
out  with  whom  your  sympathies  are — with  Mr. 
Vicars  or  with  me." 

"  I  don't  think  it  matters  much  with  whom  I 
sympathize,"  she  replied. 

"  Ah,  I  am  not  sure  of  that." 

"  I  greatly  esteem  Mr.  Vicars." 

"  To  the  extent  of  acquiescing  in  all  he  says  or 
does?" 

"  No,  certainly  not."  She  spoke  with  emphasis. 
[192] 


PRIG    AND    WORLDLING 

"  Tell  me,"  I  said,  "  what  you  really  think  of 
Mr.  Vicars?" 

She  looked  at  me  with  directness.  "  Why 
should  I  do  that  ?  Mr.  Vicars  is  a  friend  of  some 
years'  standing.  You " 

"  Of  days  only.     But  still,  a  friend." 

She  did  not  speak  for  some  moments.  "  I  can't 
understand,"  she  returned  thoughtfully,  "  why  Mr. 
Vicars  spoke  of  you  as  he  did.  About  father,  he 
only  repeated  what  some  of  the  papers  said  at  the 
time,  but  I  don't  think  he  ought  to  have  brought  it 
into  his  sermon." 

"  People  are  always  doing  wrong  and  stupid 
things  from  a  mistaken  sense  of  duty,"  I  sug- 
gested. 

"  Was  that  how  he  explained  it  to  you  in  the 
vestry?" 

"  He  did  not  allude  to  his  remarks  about  your 
father.  He  told  me  that  he  was  certain  every 
word  he  had  said  of  me  was  true,  and  that  it  was 
his  duty  to  say  it,  but  that  it  was  also  his  duty  to 
confess  that  he  had  spoken  from  improper  motives, 
from  a  feeling  of  personal  enmity." 

"  It  seems  very  subtle."  And  then,  to  my  sur- 
prise, she  gave  a  little  laugh.  "  Oh,  yes;  it  is  so 
like  poor,  dear  Mr.  Vicars.  He  is  always  an- 
alyzing and  dissecting  his  motives  until  sometimes 
[193] 


THE    TRIFLER 

he  doesn't  know  whether  he  is  a  serpent  or  a 
dove." 

"  I  don't  think  he  has  a  very  robust  mind,"  I 
hinted. 

"  He  is.  very  conscientious,  and  earnest,  and  de- 
vout," said  Milly.  "  But,  at  the  same  time,  he 
certainly  does  things  which  are  not — well,  not  quite 
honorable." 

"In  what  way?" 

"  Well,  you  know  he  is  in  love  with  Molly. 
I'm  their  go-between — I  and  Bob,  the  porter." 

I  turned  and  looked  at  her  with  astonishment. 
Milly  flushed,  and,  averting  her  eyes,  continued 
more  rapidly. 

"  That  letter  this  morning  was  from  Molly.  I 
always  take  a  letter  from  Molly  every  Sunday, 
because  I  usually  have  to  see  Mr.  Vicars  about  the 
Chapel  work,  or  something.  On  Wednesday, 
when  Robert  comes  over  to  see  Mary,  the  house- 
maid, he  brings  a  reply,  which  he  slips  into  the  tool- 
bag  of  my  bicycle." 

I  could  not  keep  my  countenance.  "  This  is 
really  very  wrong,"  I  said  reprovingly. 

"  I  know  it  is ;  and,  of  course,  I  am  as  bad  as  he 
is.  But  what  I  can't  understand  is  that  so  good  a 
man  as  Mr.  Vicars  should  stoop  to  such  a  decep- 
tion. I  have  told  you  all  this  because  I  know  you 
[194] 


PRIG    AND    WORLDLING 

will  not  tell  father.  But  if  you  were  in  Mr.  Vicars' 
place,  and  he  was  in  yours,  I  should  not  tell  you. 
Whyisthnt?" 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know." 

"  Because  I  should  be  afraid  that  you  would 
tell  father.  This  is  terribly  confused.  But  what 
I  mean  is,  that  Mr.  Vicars,  though  very  good  and 
religious,  hasn't  got  that  sense  of  honor  which  a 
gentleman  is  supposed  to  have." 

"  A  man's  sense  of  honor,"  I  explained,  "  is  only 
another  name  for  the  force  of  public  opinion  pre- 
vailing in  the  circle  to  which  he  belongs.  That  is 
why  Mr.  Vicars  probably  thinks  many  things  I  do 
disgraceful,  while  possibly  he  does  without  a  qualm 
other  things  that  I  could  never  bring  myself  to  do." 

"  But  surely  there  is  a  *  right '  and  a  *  wrong '  ?  " 

"  Oh,  most  certainly.  There  is  the  bedrock  of 
right  and  wrong,  but  few  of  us  manage  to  reach 
down  to  it." 

"  I  don't  see,"  said  Milly,  "  what  you  are  driv- 
ing at." 

"  You  were  alleging  that  Mr.  Vicars'  sense  of 
honor  was  deficient.  I  was  only  finding  an  excuse 
for  him,  and,  at  the  same  time,  an  excuse  for 
myself." 

"  If  I  understand  you,  the  excuse  for  both  of  you 
is  that  you  are  only  types  of  your  class." 

[195] 


THE    TRIFLER 

"Well,  are  we  not?" 

Milly  thought  for  a  moment.  "  Was  he  justi- 
fied in  using  the  words  he  did  about  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  he  was  justified,  but  I  dare 
say  there  is  some  truth  in  what  he  says." 

"  Then,"  said  she  promptly,  "  you  are  dissi- 
pated?" 

That  was  more  than  I  was  prepared  to  admit 
to  Miss  Milly.  "  The  word  may  mean  something 
wicked,  or  it  may  only  mean  something  foolish.  I 
plead  guilty  only  to  the  lesser  count,"  I  answered 
cautiously. 

Milly  sighed.  "  I  wish  you  didn't  waste  your 
life.  It  seems  wrong." 

We  walked  along  in  silence  for  a  little  while. 
"  I  have  confessed  a  few  of  my  defects,"  I  said ; 
"  now,  oughtn't  you  to  tell  me  some  of  yours?  " 

She  roused  herself.  "  Well,  I  don't  mind.  Gil- 
bert knows  one,  and  I  suspect  Molly  does  too,  only 
I  don't  suppose  she  puts  it  in  words." 

"Well,"  I  asked;  "what  is  it?" 

She  blushed  deeply.  "  I — I  am  rather  a — 
prig." 

I  laughed  so  loudly  that  the  birds  fluttered  in  the 
branches  of  a  neighboring  tree  in  protest. 

"  Are  you  sure?  "  I  asked.  "  And  however  did 
you  find  it  out?" 

[196] 


PRIG    AND    WORLDLING 

"  Gilbert  told  me  first,"  she  said,  with  down- 
cast eyes.  "  He  had  got  into  debt,  and  he  asked 
me  to  lend  him  some  money.  Instead  of  doing 
so  I  lectured  him,  advised  him  to  tell  father  every- 
thing. That  was  priggish,  wasn't  it?  " 

"  It  was  rather,"  I  admitted. 

"  So  he  told  me  I  was  a  prig,  and  proved  it  by 
ever  so  many  other  instances  that  I  couldn't  help 
recognizing  that  it  was  true." 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  a  fault  confessed " 

"  Oh,  I  know,  I  know,"  she  cried  hastily. 
"  But  the  worst  of  it  is,  from  fear  of  being  thought 
priggish,  I  do  lots  of  things  I  oughtn't.  I  send 
Gilbert  part  of  the  housekeeping  money,  which  is 
really  almost  stealing  from  father;  and  then  I 
oughtn't  to  act  as  a  go-between  for  Molly  and  Mr. 
Vicars."  She  sighed  heavily.  "  You  have  no 
idea  how  difficult  things  are." 

"  Never  mind,"  I  said  consolingly.  "  Let's 
hope  everything  will  come  right  by  and  by.  And 
if  you  agree  not  to  think  me  the  very  worst  kind  of 
worldling,  I'll  agree  not  to  think  you  the  very 
worst  kind  of  prig.  Is  that  a  bargain?  " 

'  Very  well,"  she  agreed.  "  Only  you  mustn't 
think  I  approve  of  your  wasting  your  life.  Is  that 
a  priggish  remark?  "  she  cried  in  sudden  alarm. 

"  Oh,  no,"  I  said. 

[197] 


THE    TRIFLER 

"  I  am  afraid  it  is,"  she  replied  mournfully. 
"  However,  as  it  is  getting  near  tea-time,  the  prig 
and  the  worldling  had  better  be  getting  home." 

"Will  the  prig  take  the  worldling's  arm?"  I 
asked. 

She  hesitated.  "  Will  it  be  priggish  of  the  prig 
to  refuse?" 

"  Oh,  very,"  I  said. 

"  Well,  as  there  is  no  one  about,  the  prig  will 
not  be  priggish  on  this  occasion." 


[198] 


CHAPTER  XII 

TREFUSIS   AGAIN 

I  DROVE  over  to  Trewint  the  next  day  to 
attend  the  Committee  meeting  at  the  Con- 
servative Club.  When  we  arrived  we  found 
the  rest  of  the  Committee  already  assembled — 
twenty-two  in  all,  of  whom  about  two-thirds  be- 
longed to  the  tradesman  and  farmer  class,  while 
the  other  third  consisted  of  professional  men,  with 
a  sprinkling  of  representatives  of  county  families. 
The  former  class  were  ill  at  ease  and  self-con- 
scious; the  professional  gentlemen  were  very 
affable  and  bland;  while  the  county  aristocrats 
maintained  great  dignity,  and  talked  to  each 
other. 

When  Mr.  Telby  entered  the  room  he  made  at 
once  for  the  latter  group,  holding  me  by  the  arm, 
and  insisting  on  introducing  me  to  men  I  had 
known  from  childhood.  Having  performed  this 
unnecessary  task  with  great  unction,  he  mentioned 
the  names  of  the  professional  gentlemen  in  a  string, 
and,  with  a  wave  of  his  hand,  included  them  in 
[199] 


THE    TR1FLER 

one  summary  introduction.  He  ignored  the  other 
members  of  the  Committee  completely,  which  I 
thought  not  only  bad  manners,  but  undiplomatic. 
To  repair  his  omission,  I  approached  the  group  in 
ill-fitting  black  coats  and  shook  hands  cordially, 
chatting  about  the  weather  and  crops  for  nearly 
fifteen  minutes.  I  mention  this,  because  I  heard 
afterwards  that  this  little  act  of  mine  saved  me 
from  an  unpleasant  episode.  It  seems  that  the 
minds  of  some  of  these  gentlemen  had  been  much 
disturbed  by  Mr.  Vicars'  attack  on  my  moral 
character,  and  they  had  come  to  the  meeting  with 
the  intention  of  proposing  that  I  should  not 
participate  in  the  contest.  The  greengrocer,  Mr. 
Lobster  by  name,  who  was  esteemed  to  possess 
great  tact,  had  been  deputed  to  make  the  sugges- 
tion. However,  I  was  spared  this  awkwardness, 
for  Mr.  Lobster  was  so  touched  by  my  tender 
inquiries  for  his  wife  (whom  I  remembered  because 
of  her  inordinate  stoutness) ,  that  he  became  one  of 
my  keenest  champions  in  days  following. 

The  details  of  that  Committee  meeting  I  do  not 
propose  to  relate  here.  There  was  a  certain 
amount  of  business  done,  allotting  canvassing  dis- 
tricts and  so  forth,  and  there  was  an  immense 
amount  of  talk.  Farmer  Greenhow  couldn't  un- 
derstand why  Mr.  Telby  did  not  support  a  tax  on 
[  200  ] 


TREFUSIS    AGAIN 

corn,  which  the  farmer  knew  on  certain  evidence 
would  secure  him  at  least  ten  votes.  Mr.  Watson, 
a  grocer  and  vendor  of  bottled  beer,  utterly  dis- 
sented from  Mr.  Telby's  views  on  Temperance 
Reform  and  other  "  sich  rot."  Altogether,  as 
chairman,  I  had  my  work  cut  out  to  keep  things 
going  smoothly.  The  method  I  adopted,  with 
success,  was  to  listen  with  concentrated  attention  to 
each  suggestion,  nodding  my  head  at  frequent  in- 
tervals to  show  my  appreciation  of  the  wisdom  of 
the  speaker,  and  then  to  make  a  note  on  a  piece 
of  paper  before  me.  If  there  arose  a  possibility 
of  a  real  conflict  of  opinion,  I  would  turn  with 
eagerness  to  someone  who  had  not  expressed  his 
view  and  ask,  with  earnestness,  "  And  what  do  you 
think,  Mr.  So-and-so?  "  Mr.  So-and-so  would  be 
greatly  flattered,  but,  being  unprepared,  would 
make  some  incoherent  remarks,  which  fogged  the 
issue,  and  the  danger  would  pass. 

When  the  meeting  was  at  an  end,  Mr.  Telby 
escorted  the  county  notabilities  to  the  door  with  too 
profuse  courtesy.  The  professional  gentlemen 
took  themselves  off  at  the  same  time,  but  the  others, 
whose  interest  in  the  election  seemed  keener,  re- 
mained talking  and  arguing  in  groups.  Mr. 
Telby,  returning  from  seeing  our  only  baronet  to 
his  carriage,  seized  me  by  the  arm,  and  with  a  curt 
[201] 


THE    TRIFLER 

nod  in  the  direction  of  the  lingering  members  of 
the  Committee,  propelled  me  towards  the  door. 

"  Let's  go  home,"  he  said.  "  There's  nothing 
else  we  need  bother  about  to-day." 

It  seemed  so  rude  to  break  away  in  this  abrupt 
fashion  from  men  who,  whatever  their  social  stand- 
ing, were  working  in  our  interest,  that  I  disengaged 
myself  from  his  grasp  and  again  shook  hands  all 
round.  Mr.  Telby  awaited  me  impatiently.  The 
door  had  hardly  closed  on  us  when  he  turned  to  me. 

"  It's  a  waste  of  time  being  polite  to  these 
chaps,"  he  said.  "  I  own  their  shops." 

Just  as  we  were  leaving  the  building  he  stumbled 
against  a  man  passing. 

"  Confound  you,  sir  I  "  he  exclaimed.  The  man 
turned.  It  was  Trefusis. 

Mr.  Telby  held  out  his  hand.  "  Didn't  know 
it  was  you,"  he  said.  "And  here's  a  friend  of 
yours."  He  indicated  me. 

Trefusis'  eye  met  mine,  and  he  smiled  blithely. 

"  Funny  to  meet  in  this  dismal  little  hole,  isn't 
it?"  he  observed  genially. 

"  I  suppose  you've  come  to  canvass  on  my  be- 
half," said  Mr.  Telby  jocosely. 

44  Hardly.     In  fact " 

41  Well,  you'll  dine  with  us  this  evening?    Only 
Trewint  and  the  two  girls." 
[  202  ] 


TREFUSIS    AGAIN 

"  It's  very  good  of  you."  He  hesitated,  and  I 
wondered  whether  he  would  have  the  effrontery 
to  accept  the  invitation. 

"  A  quarter  to  eight,"  called  out  Mr.  Telby  as 
he  climbed  into  his  carriage.  "  By  the  way,  where 
are  you  staying?  " 

"  Oh,  I  am  staying  with  an  old  college  friend,  a 
parson.  In  fact,  I've  promised  to  help  him  at  the 
election." 

Mr.  Telby's  face  changed  suddenly.  "  Not — 
not  that  blackguard " 

Trefusis'  eye  traveled  to  mine  with  ill-concealed 
amusement. 

"  Oh,  no;  not  a  blackguard.  A  most  estimable 
man.  His  name  is  Vicars." 

"  Pshaw  I  "  cried  Mr.  Telby  with  disgust.  "  I 
can't  understand  how  any  self-respecting  man  can 

associate  with  a — a "  His  feelings  were  too 

deep  for  words.  "  And  I  remember  we  are  not 
dining  at  home  this  evening.  James,  drive  on." 

During  the  drive  he  kept  up  a  running  tirade  of 
abuse  against  Vicars.  But  I  hardly  heeded  him. 
Here  was  a  curiously  unexpected  development. 
Trefusis  had  come  down  to  Trewint  to  assist 
Vicars!  Why?  And  could  Trefusis  do  our  side 
any  harm  ?  It  seemed  improbable,  except  in  so  far 
as  he  could  discredit  me.  Could  he  discredit  me  ? 
[203] 


THE    TRIFLER 

I  remembered  Vicars'  words  in  the  pulpit  and  in 
the  vestry  the  day  before.  Were  his  vague  alle- 
gations of  profligacy  prompted  by  Trefusis?  Per- 
haps this  was  his  revenge.  If  so,  what  a  very 
dirty  business !  I  cast  my  eye  over  my  past  with 
a  sudden  nervousness.  I  could  find  nothing  very 
dreadful  there — nothing  which  the  average  man 
would  not  find. 

Yes,  that  was  no  doubt  the  case,  but  the  average 

man I  had  pursued  this  line  of  thought  for 

some  weeks  before,  and  had  dropped  off  to  sleep 
convinced  that  my  armor  of  defense  was  invulner- 
able. But  now  Milly  kept  springing  up  before  my 
mental  vision.  She  was  a  new  factor  in  the  case. 
The  arguments  that  had  consoled  me  had  to  be 
looked  at  again  from  another  point  of  view.  I 
was  the  average  man.  She  was,  let  it  be  assumed, 
the  average  woman.  Would  the  private  life  of 
an  average  man  shock  the  delicate  sense  of  an 
average  woman  ?  I  groaned  inwardly. 

At  Dewhurst  I  found  a  letter  awaiting  me  from 
my  sister-in-law.  Here  is  an  extract:  "Good 
news  travels  fast.  I  hear  you  are  making  very 
satisfactory  progress  with  what,  to  my  mind,  is 
so  much  more  important  than  that  stupid  election 
— the  cultivation  of  the  gentle  Molly.  Persevere, 
my  dearest  Fred.  I  would  love  to  see  you  settled. 
[204] 


TREFUSIS    AGAIN 

And  Gerald  is  ever  so  keen  it  should  happen.  Do 
you  know  he  was  told  by  a  friend,  who  had  it  from 
a  man  who  is  intimately  acquainted  with  Mr. 

Telby's  affairs,  that  he  is  worth " 

I  put  the  letter  in  the  fire.  Bother  Molly !  But 
I  dressed  quickly,  and  was  in  the  drawing  room 
before  the  dressing-bell  rang,  on  the  chance  that 
her  younger  sister  might  just  possibly  be  early  too ; 
which,  as  it  happened,  she  was. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

FIRST    BLOOD 

WHEN  I  came  down  to  breakfast  the 
next  morning  the  sudden  silence  as  I 
entered  the  room  betokened  that  I  was 
the  subject  of  conversation.  Around  Mr.  Telby's 
chair  there  was  a  litter  of  newspapers.  A  sheet 
was  propped  up  in  front  of  him,  and  over  it  his 
red,  angry  face  glowered  like  the  sun  through  a 
fog. 

"Good-morning,"  I  said.     "Any  news?" 

He  struggled  for  words.  "  He's  gone  too  far 
this  time,"  he  managed  to  say  at  length. 

I  indicated  to  the  servant  my  preference  for 
bacon  and  kidneys.  "  Who  has?  "  I  asked. 

"That — that "  As  he  did  not  complete 

his  sentence  I  knew  he  wished  to  refer  to  Vicars. 

"What  has  he  been  up  to?"  Milly  poured 
me  out  some  tea,  and  Molly  passed  the  cup.  I 
felt  aggrieved,  and  in  no  way  interested  in  Mr. 
Telby's  complaints,  for  Milly  had  not  articulately 
wished  me  "  good-morning."  "  We'll  go  and  call 
[  207  ] 


THE    TRIFLER 

on  Jenkins,"  said  Mr.  Telby.  "  He'll  know  how 
to  put  a  stopper  on  this  fellow." 

"Who  is  Jenkins?" 

"  My  solicitor.  A  criminal  prosecution  ought 
to  put  an  end  to  these  slanders." 

"  Has  Vicars  been  at  it  again?  "  I  asked,  rather 
indifferently. 

"  At  it  again !  "  echoed  Mr.  Telby.  "  Just  you 
read  the  report  of  his  speech  last  night  in  the 
Central  Chronicle.  We'll  go  for  the  editor,  too. 
We'll  put  the  whole  confounded  crew  in  jail! 
We'll  show  that  we're  not  to  be  trifled  with !  " 

"  What  has  he  said?  "  I  asked,  with  awakening 
curiosity. 

"Said?  He  says  you  are  a  confirmed 
drunkard ! " 

The  kidney  on  my  fork  stopped  on  its  way  to 
my  mouth.  I  looked  at  Mr.  Telby  and  then  at 
Milly. 

"  What  a  funny  thing  to  say! "  I  observed  at 
length. 

"  Mr.  Vicars  didn't  quite  say  that,  father,"  in- 
terposed Milly.  "  He  only  said  that  once  or  twice 
Mr.  Trewint  was " 

"  Read  the  infernal  thing  for  yourself,"  roared 
Mr.  Telby,  pushing  the  newspaper  towards  me. 

I  took  the  paper,  and  halfway  down  a  column 
I  208  ] 


FIRST    BLOOD 

headed  "Liberal  Meeting  at  Trewint,"  I  read: 
"  The  Rev.  Mr.  Vicars,  who  was  received  with 
cheers,  said  that  he  felt  their  present  position  to  be 
one  of  heavy  responsibility.  They  were  concerned 
in  an  election,  and,  as  citizens,  it  was  incumbent  on 
them,  not  only  to  return  a  worthy  representative, 
but  to  see  that  a  high  standard  of  electoral  purity 
was  maintained.  The  cynical  fashion  in  which  the 
Tories  were  carrying  on  the  campaign  must  meet 
with  the  reprobation  of  all  honest  men.  What 
did  they  see  ?  Mr.  Telby  alleged  himself  to  be  a 
temperance  reformer.  He  was  the  president  of 
the  Trewint  Temperance  League,  and  had,  at  the 
initial  meeting,  placed  his  name  in  the  pledge  book. 
Those  of  them  present  would  recall  his  speech  on 
that  occasion.  And  whom  had  he  chosen  for  his 
chief  supporter?  A  man  with  an  honored  name. 
( Cheers.)  They  cheered,  but  what  was  an  honored 
name  alienated  from  an  honorable  life?  (Loud 
cheers.)  Was  this  chief  supporter  of  Mr.  Telby  a 
temperance  reformer?  They  knew  he  was  not. 
He  was  revealing  no  secret  when  he  stated  that  the 
individual  in  question  had  on  more  than  one  oc- 
casion been  fined  for  drunkenness — for  being 
drunk  in  public  places.  This  was  the  man  Mr. 
Telby  chose  as  his  chief  supporter.  How  dared 
he  insult  their  wives  and  daughters  by  bringing 
[209] 


THE    TRIFLER 

such  a  man  into  their  midst?  He  trusted  they 
would  show  by  their  votes  that  they  resented  such 
conduct." 

I  laid  down  the  paper  and  looked  atMilly.  Her 
eyes  were  turned  away,  but  they  came  round  to 
mine  almost  reluctantly,  and  I  noticed  with  a  thrill 
that  they  were  full  of  tears. 

"  Well?  "said  Mr.  Telby. 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders.     "Well?" 

"  What  do  you  propose  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  don't  propose  to  do  anything,"  I  answered, 
continuing  my  breakfast. 

"  You  don't  propose  to  do  anything!  "  repeated 
Mr.  Telby.  "  Oh,  yes,  you  do !  You're  going  to 
prosecute  him — to  make  a  public  example  of  him." 

I  shook  my  head. 

"Why  not?" 

I  did  not  answer  for  a  moment.  "  On  the 
whole,"  said  I,  "  the  best  course  is  to  let  the  matter 
slide." 

He  glared  at  me.     "Not  even  deny  it?" 

"  No."  I  spoke,  perhaps,  more  decidedly  than 
usual,  for  Mr.  Telby  stopped  short,  poised,  as  it 
were,  in  mid  air. 

"To  take  no  notice!  "  he  ejaculated.  "Good 
heavens,  what  will  people  think!  " 

"  Oh,  well,"  I  said,  "  I  don't  mean  that  I  shan't 
[210] 


FIRST    BLOOD 

perhaps  allude  to  it  at  one  of  our  meetings,  but  I 
only  propose  to  rely  on  words." 

"  What  an  opportunity  to  throw  away !  "  he 
groaned.  "  You  will  give  the  impression  it  is 
true." 

"  It  can't  be  helped." 

"  I  could  almost  believe  you  have  been  fined  for 
drunkenness,"  he  cried,  with  sudden  exasperation. 

11  So  I  have." 

When  a  footman,  trained  to  immobility,  gives  a 
short,  quick  gasp  and  drops  a  plate,  you  may  be 
sure  his  feelings  are  powerfully  moved.  And  if 
a  menial,  who  is  only  remotely  interested,  betrays 
strong  emotion,  what  must  be  the  sensations  of  his 
master,  who  is  directly  concerned?  Mr.  Telby 
was  silent — suddenly,  blankly  silent — the  quies- 
cence of  complete  prostration. 

I  looked  towards  Milly.  She  gazed  at  me  with 
an  expression  of  absolute  terror.  Molly  and  I 
continued  our  breakfast. 

It  was  some  minutes  before  Mr.  Telby  spoke. 
"  You  have  been  fined  for  drunkenness ! "  he 
whispered. 

"  At  least  twice,"  I  replied  cheerfully. 

"  Twice  ?  "  he  moaned.     "  Twice  ?  " 

"  Twenty  shillings  on  each  occasion.  And  very 
moderate,  considering." 

[211] 


THE    TRIFLER 

"  You  do  not  appreciate  the  gravity  of  the  situa- 
tion," he  said,  choking.  "  It  will  lose  me  the 
whole  of  the  temperance  vote.  I  consider,"  he 
burst  forth,  with  sudden  fury,  "  that  you  should 
have  warned  me." 

"Warned  you  of  my  unhappy  propensity?"  I 
asked  politely. 

"  Warned  me  you  had  publicly  disgraced  your- 
self," he  fumed.  He  rose,  and  strode  about  the 
room.  "  What  am  I  to  do?  "  he  cried.  "  See  in 
what  a  position  you  have  placed  me  I  " 

"  But  you  didn't  know." 

"  I  know  now." 

"  Then  throw  me  over.  Send  me  back  to  Lon- 
don by  the  next  train.  I  will  go." 

"  But  then  I  shall  lose  the  Trewint  votCj"  he 
wailed;  and  if  he  had  not  been  a  short,  stout  man, 
naturally  sparing  of  gesture,  I  think  he  would  have 
wrung  his  hands.  His  eyes  traveled  to  Molly,  and 
then  they  rested  on  me.  "  No,"  he  said  decisively, 
"  we  must  make  the  best  of  it.  We  must  explain 
it  away.  Possibly," — hope  beamed  in  his  eyes, — 
"  you  were  then  very  young?  " 

"  Well,  yes,"  I  acknowledged;  "  I  was  young." 

"  And  you  repent;  you  deeply  repent?  " 

11  Oh,  hang  it,  no  I     It  was  tremendous  fun." 

He  groaned.  I  could  see  he  was  suffering 
[212] 


'You  do  not  appreciate  the  gravity  of  the  situation,'  he  said." 


FIRST    BLOOD 

acutely.  Then  another  thought  flashed  through 
his  brain.  '  Young  men  of  spirit,  old  heads  not 
for  young  shoulders,  not  responsible,  years  of  dis- 
cretion," I  heard  him  mutter.  He  felt  in  his  waist- 
coat pocket  for  a  pencil,  and,  not  finding  one, 
searched  behind  the  clock,  and,  balked  again, 
hastened  out  of  the  room  with  the  evident  intention 
of  making  a  note. 

The  breakfast  room  opened  into  the  garden, 
and  the  fragrance  of  summer  filled  the  air.  Milly 
had  risen  from  the  table. 

"  Let  us  go  into  the  garden,"  I  suggested. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Oh,  please  come." 

Molly  was  still  at  breakfast.  She  had  a  hearty 
appetite. 

"  You  might  go  and  pick  the  flowers,"  she  said 
to  her  sister. 

"  I — must  see  the  cock,"  said  Milly  hurriedly. 

"  P,"  I  observed.  Milly  gave  me  a  startled 
look. 

"  You'd  better  do  the  flowers  first,"  said  Molly, 
taking  a  piece  of  toast. 

"  Oh,  no,  I  must " 

"  #,"  I  remarked. 

Again  she  started.  She  took  up  a  bundle  of 
keys  and  jangled  it. 

[213] 


THE    TRIFLER 

"  I  really  must  attend  to  my  household  duties," 
she  said  firmly. 

"  /,"  I  continued. 

"  Oh,  oh,  I'll  come."  She  gave  a  little  run  and 
was  out  in  the  garden,  the  sunlight  on  her  hair.  I 
followed  more  leisurely.  As  I  approached  her, 
she  hurried  on  across  the  lawn  to  the  flower 
beds. 

"Have  you  nothing  to  say  to  me?"  I 
asked  from  behind.  "  No  reproaches ;  no 
nothing?" 

She  turned  suddenly,  and  for  the  second  time 
that  morning  I  saw  tears  flood  her  eyes. 

"You  make  light  of  everything,"  she  said. 
"  But  I — I  cannot  make  light  of  everything." 

"  You  are  angry  with  me." 

"  I  am — disappointed." 

"Have  I  not  always  disappointed  you?"  I 
asked  dejectedly. 

She  was  silent  for  a  time,  and  then  she  looked 
up.  "  You — you  never  had  a  mother,"  she  said 
softly,  and  there  was  maternal  solicitude  in  her 
voice. 

"  You  are  trying  to  find  an  excuse  for  me,"  I 
returned.  "What  a  kind  little  heart  you  have. 
But  it  is  no  goodl  I  did  have  a  mother;  it  was 
quite  necessary." 

[214] 


FIRST    BLOOD 

She  wheeled  away  angrily.  "  You — you  make 
it  very  hard  for  me  to  talk  seriously." 

"  And  so  I  do,"  I  assented,  ashamed. 

She  began  to  snip  off  flowers  with  a  pair  of 
scissors  that  hung  at  her  waist.  I  produced  a 
cigarette. 

"  Drunkenness,"  said  I,  "  is  not  a  romantic  fail- 
ing." 

She  flashed  an  indignant  glance  at  me  over  her 
shoulder. 

"  Once,"  I  continued,  "  you  thought  me  a  bur- 
glar, and  you  were  quite  right.  I  have  many  little 
failings.  Now  you  think  me  a  drunkard.  And 
why?  Because  twice,  in  a  long  and  checkered 
career,  I  have  taken  more  than  was  good  for  me. 
Only  twice !  " 

"  In  public  places!     Oh,  the  shame  of  itl  " 

"  I  did  not  drink  in  public  places,  though  I  admit 
I  exhibited  myself  afterwards — I  have  no  real 
modesty — in  my  college  quadrangle.  It  was  after 
a  bump  supper.  We  were  all  rather — well,  merry. 
And  we  made  a  lovely  bonfire." 

"Oh,  all  this  happened  at  college?"  she  ex- 
claimed, seemingly  relieved. 

"  That  makes  no  difference,"  I  retorted  severely. 
"  Pray  do  not  try  and  comfort  me  by  false  dis- 
tinctions. The  British  workingman,  reeling 
[215] 


THE    TRIFLER 

home  to  batter  his  wife;  the  undergraduate,  cele- 
brating his  college's  victory;  both  are  equally  to 
blame,  for  both  are  equally  intoxicated." 

"  I  suppose  you  were  fined  by  a  don  or  a  proctor 
— or  whatever  you  call  him?  " 

"  And  that,"  I  rejoined,  "  is  as  disgraceful  in 
principle  as  if  the  fine  was  inflicted  by  a  stipendiary 
magistrate." 

"  There  seems  to  be  a  difference,"  she  observed, 
"  and,  in  any  case,  you  were  only  a  boy." 

Her  arms  were  full  of  flowers.  She  smiled  over 
them. 

"  I  cannot  see  the  distinction,"  I  replied. 

"  It  was  very  wrong  of  you  to  mislead  papa," 
said  she.  She  moved  towards  the  house,  but 
stopped  for  a  moment  to  look  back.  "  I  am  glad 
you  didn't  spell  the  whole  word." 


[216] 


CHAPTER  XIV 

OUR    FIRST    MEETING 

TREWINT  was  becoming  infected  with 
the  excitement  of  the  approaching  con- 
test. The  walls  and  windows  were 
covered  with  colored  posters,  and  the  more  en- 
thusiastic of  the  populace  had  already  adorned 
themselves  with  rosettes.  Our  first  meeting  was 
certainly  enthusiastic.  When  the  Dewhurst  party, 
consisting  of  Mr.  Telby,  the  two  girls,  and  myself, 
ascended  the  platform,  we  were  cheered  again  and 
again.  Then  someone  called  for  "  groans  for 
Vicars,"  and  the  howling  was  indescribable. 

The  meeting  had  not  progressed  far  before  it 
became  apparent  that  the  audience  regarded  the 
vulgar  episode  in  which  Mr.  Vicars  and  I  figured  as 
the  important  feature  of  the  election.  When  I 
rose  someone  in  the  gallery  lowered  a  sheet  with 
some  of  my  scores  in  county  cricket  inscribed 
thereon,  and  the  cheering  again  became  tremen- 
dous. It  became  obvious  that  the  hall  was  full  of 
what  might  be  called  the  Trewint  "  sporting " 
[217] 


THE    TRIFLER 

element — young  men  from  shops  and  factories,  not 
one  in  six  probably  possessing  a  vote — all  of  whom 
seemed  to  regard  me  as  a  kind  of  local  hero. 
They  were  a  rowdy  crew,  and  I  admit  that  at  first 
I  was  by  way  of  feeling  ashamed.  But  their 
vociferous  cheers  were  like  incense  to  Mr.  Telby. 
He  sat  and  beamed  and  bowed,  the  picture  of 
rubicund  content.  In  a  little  time  I,  too,  was 
swayed  by  that  curious  influence  which  binds  an 
assembly  together,  and  I  began  to  regard  myself  as 
no  small  figure  in  no  small  movement. 

I  had  intended,  as  I  had  hinted  to  Mr.  Telby, 
to  try  and  get  a  "  little  of  my  own  "  back  at  this 
meeting.  I  had  prepared  many  bitter  and  sar- 
castic things  to  say  about  Mr.  Vicars,  most  of 
which,  on  matwre  reflection,  I  had  rejected.  But 
in  the  excitement  of  the  moment  I  let  myself  go. 
Certainly  my  speech  was  a  success.  It  was  cheered 
to  the  echo.  Every  "  score  "  I  made  received  its 
meed  of  applause.  If  it  is  the  chief  aim  of  a 
speaker  to  obtain  the  approbation  of  his  audience, 
then  I  achieved  my  object.  If,  on  the  other  hand, 
it  is  his  duty  to  say  nothing  of  which  he  will  be 
ashamed  in  calmer  moments,  then,  emphatically,  I 
failed.  It  will  serve  no  end  to  set  down  my  quips 
and  cranks  at  Mr.  Vicars'  expense.  They  were 
cheap  enough,  Heaven  knows,  or  they  would  not 
[218] 


OUR    FIRST    MEETING 

have  won  the  applause  of  the  rabble  I  was  ad- 
dressing. 

As  I  neared  a  triumphant  close,  I  happened  to 
turn  and  catch  a  glimpse  of  Molly's  face.  Her 
eyes  were  fixed  on  me,  and  there  was  a  piteous, 
hunted  look  in  them  which  gave  me  pause.  In 
that  brief  glance  I  noticed  that  Milly  held  her 
sister's  hand,  and  was  gently  smoothing  it  between 
her  own,  and  that  on  her  face  there  was  something 
like  scorn.  I  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  then, 
pulling  myself  together,  finished  my  speech  in  an 
entirely  different  key.  My  final  words  were  almost 
a  rhapsody  on  Mr.  Vicars'  virtues.  I  reminded  my 
audience,  who  did  not  applaud,  of  the  work  he  had 
done  amongst  them,  how  he  had  fought  against  the 
smallpox  epidemic  a  few  years  before,  and  how 
his  life  had  been  devoted  to  the  succor  of  the  poor 
and  needy.  "  I  think,"  I  concluded,  "  that  he  has 
treated  me  badly,  and  I,  too,  have  spared  no  hard 
words  in  speaking  of  him.  But  I  expect  that  he 
and  I  both  realize  that  much  which  is  said  at  elec- 
tion times  is  forgotten  as  soon  as  the  poll  is  de- 
clared. I  know  that  not  one  in  this  hall  has  really 
forgotten  his  sterling  worth,  and  I  hope  when  the 
contest  is  at  an  end,  whatever  may  be  the  result,  I 
shall  be  privileged  to  meet  as  a  friend  a  man  whom 
I  esteem." 

[219] 


THE    TRIFLER 

I  sat  down  amid  considerable,  though  not 
tumultuous,  applause.  My  last  words  had  proved 
somewhat  of  a  cold-water  douche  to  the  enthusi- 
astic exuberance  of  the  meeting.  But  I  did  not 
care;  a  glance  at  Molly's  face  showed  a  brighter 
color  on  her  cheek,  and  Milly  had  flashed  me  a 
glance  which  I  interpreted  as  approval. 

When  Mr.  Telby  rose,  his  first  few  words,  in 
which  he  dissociated  himself  from  what  he  termed 
"  the  magnanimous  conclusion  of  my  eloquent 
speech,"  were  received  with  favor.  But  no  sooner 
did  he  leave  the  topic  which  alone  interested  his 
audience,  and  devote  himself  to  the  political  ques- 
tions of  the  day,  than  it  manifested  extreme  rest- 
lessness. But  Mr.  Telby  was  not  to  be  dissuaded 
from  a  speech  by  mere  shuffling  of  feet  and  oc- 
casional calls  of  "  Time."  He  boomed  on  for 
a  solid  hour,  and  when  he  sat  down  at  last,  the 
audience  had  appreciably  thinned.  A  few  other 
speeches  followed,  a  resolution  pledging  the  meet- 
ing to  support  Mr.  Telby  was  carried,  and  the 
meeting  broke  up,  considerably  less  excited  at  the 
close  than  at  the  beginning. 

In  the  ante-room  I  was  introduced  to  the  editor 
of  the  Central  Standard. 

"  Congratulate  you  on  a  brilliant  speech,  Mr. 
Trewint,"  he  said.  And  then  he  closed  one  eye. 
[  220  ] 


OUR    FIRST    MEETING 

"  The  ending  was  very  clever,  very  ingenious. 
But  I  am  afraid  it  won't  work." 

"  How  do  you  think  I  intended  it  to  work?  "  I 
asked,  smiling  knowingly,  as  I  saw  he  expected. 

"  Of  course,  it  means  *  Let's  cry  quits.'  But 
Vicars  won't.  Not  he.  I  know  him  better  than 
you  do.  I  expect  you'll  have  some  nasty  knocks 
before  you  finish." 

"  I  must  try  and  bear  them  patiently." 

He  chuckled.  "  Bear  them  patiently  I  Is  that 
what  you  call  it?  I  gave  the  nod  to  our  reporter 
to  take  you  down  verbatim  when  I  saw  you  had  the 
gloves  on.  We're  going  to  have  some  fun  this 
election,  I  think." 

"  I  hate  personalities." 

"  They  form  amusing  reading,  and  that's  what 
I  have  to  consider.  Will  you  remember  me  to  Sir 
Gerald?  Good-by." 

"  One  moment,"  I  said  hastily.  "  On  the 
whole,  I  should  prefer  if  you  could — er — moder- 
ate my  remarks  about  Mr.  Vicars.  Things  read 
so  differently " 

"  Oh,  I'll  see  that  nothing  libelous  goes  in. 
You  may  depend  on  me.  It's  a  battle  of  giants, 
sir!"  And  off  he  ran. 

Mr.  Telby  and  his  daughters  and  I  drove  home 
together.  Milly  sat  next  to  me. 

[221] 


THE    TRIFLER 

"  Good  speech,  that  of  yours,"  said  Mr.  Telby, 
"  though  you  spoiled  it  at  the  end.  Whatever 
made  you  do  that?  " 

I  turned  to  Milly.     "  Did  I  spoil  it?" 

"  I  thought  the  end  was  the  only  redeeming 
feature,"  returned  Milly  very  distinctly. 

Mr.  Telby  was  annoyed. 

At  breakfast  the  next  morning  Mr.  Telby  was 
in  a  mood  of  mingled  humors. 

"  They've  cut  me  down,"  he  said,  as  I  entered 
the  breakfast  room,  "but  they've  given  you  a 
column.  Here,  you'll  want  to  read  the  report." 

"  No,  thank  you,"  I  replied,  repressing  a  shud- 
der. 

"  By  Jove,  you  rapped  into  him,"  said  Mr. 
Telby,  and  he  began  to  read  extracts  from  the 
report. 

"  Did  I  say  that?  "  I  asked  uncomfortably. 

"  Of  course  you  did.  And  listen  to  this."  The 
wretched  man  continued  to  read  aloud. 

I  groaned.  Luckily  Molly  had  a  headache,  and 
was  having  breakfast  in  her  own  room.  I  turned 
to  Milly. 

"  Have  you  read  it  too  ?  " 

Her  color  rose.     "  I  ?     Oh,  yes." 

"  It  must  look  awful  in  print?  " 

"  It — it  is  very  clever,"  she  said  vaguely. 
[  222  ] 


OUR    FIRST    MEETING 

"And  vulgar?"  I  asked.  "I  haven't  slept 
all  night  from  pure  shame." 

"  Oh,  no,  I  shouldn't  call  it  vulgar.    Only " 

I  waited.  Mr.  Telby  was  too  engrossed  to  pay 
us  any  attention. 

"  Only  what?  "  I  asked,  for  she  showed  no  sign 
of  finishing  her  sentence. 

*'  Only  I  am  sorry  for  Molly,"  she  whispered. 

"  So  am  I.     I'm  a  brute." 

She  lifted  her  head  sharply.  "That's  quite 
absurd.  He  began  it.  He  was  very  unfair  to 
you." 

"  I  wish  you  had  left  out  that  end  bit,"  growled 
Mr.  Telby.  "  What  did  you  want  to  give  him  a 
testimonial  for?  " 

I  disregarded  him.  "  The  newspaper  man,"  I 
said  to  Milly,  "  suggested  I  wanted  to  cry 
'  quits.' " 

"  I  wish  you  would,"  she  replied  fervently. 

"  I  am  willing  for  my  part,  but  will  Mr. 
Vicars?" 

She  shook  her  head  doubtfully. 

"  And  if  he  won't,  shall  I  let  him  alone,  not- 
withstanding?" 

She  was  silent.  Perhaps  opposing  sentiments 
were  struggling  in  her  breast.  Finally  her  color 
rose  and  her  eyes  flashed.  "  Certainly  not,"  she 

[223] 


THE    TRIFLER 

cried  with  emphasis.  "  If  he  can't  behave,  he — 
he  must  be  taught  to." 

I  glanced  at  Mr.  Telby,  who  was  still  engrossed. 

"  But  Molly?  "  I  murmured. 

A  troubled  look  crept  over  her  face.  "  Poor 
Molly,"  she  sighed. 

I  rose  from  the  table.  "  I  suppose  you  can't 
add  *  Poor  Fred,'  "  I  said,  "  for  I  assure  you  I 
need  pity  too." 

"  Poor  Mr.  Trewint,"  she  returned,  smiling. 
"  And  poor  Milly.  We  are  all  in  the  same  boat." 

I  opened  the  door  for  her,  for  she  had  picked  up 
her  bunch  of  keys,  preparatory  to  departure. 

"  If  you  and  I  are  in  the  same  boat,"  I  said 
softly,  "  why,  I  am  not  so  much  to  be  pitied,  after 
all." 


[224] 


CHAPTER  XV 

CALUMNY 

BUT  Mr.  Vicars  would  not  cry  "  quits." 
Very  far  from  it,  indeed!  At  the  next 
meeting  he  addressed  he  alluded  to  my 
observations,  and  stated  with  precision  that  under 
no  circumstances  could  he  meet  me  on  terms  of 
friendship.  "  Such  a  friendship,"  he  was  reported 
to  have  said,  "  would  be  contamination.  It  was 
not  possible  to  touch  pitch  and  not  be  defiled !  " 
This  was  evidently  too  strong  for  his  audience, 
for  the  newspapers  chronicled  "  Interruption." 
Whereupon,  speaking  with  increase'd  heat,  he  de- 
clared that  he  could  not  recount  before  a  mixed 
audience  the  episodes  which  colored  my  career 
"  with  purple  patches,"  but  they  might  accept  his 
personal  assurances  that,  if  he  liked  to  speak,  I 
should  be  hooted  out  of  Trewint. 

Of  course  I  challenged  Mr.  Vicars  to  produce 

his  proof,  and  went  on  to  say  if  he  did  not  do  so, 

he  stood  branded  before  the  community  as  a  liar. 

My  other  retorts  I  need  not  recount,  but  they  were 

[225] 


THE    TRIFLER 

not  conciliatory.  It  was  on  this  occasion,  I  re- 
member, that  our  carriage  was  dragged  part  of 
the  way  homewards  by  some  of  the  audience,  who 
afterwards  smashed  all  Mr.  Vicars'  front  windows. 
I  confess  I  was  not  proud  of  our  supporters.  Mr. 
Vicars,  of  course,  declared  we  "  hired  "  them,  but, 
for  the  good  they  did  us,  I  should  rather  have 
preferred  to  pay  them  to  support  the  Radical 
candidate. 

Mr.  Vicars'  "  purple  patch  "  speech  caused  con- 
siderable comment  in  the  newspapers.  The  Cen- 
tral Standard  called  on  him  to  substantiate  his 
charges  or  to  withdraw  them,  and  even  the 
Chronicle  expressed  a  fear  that  he  had  gone  too 
far.  "  We  feel,"  said  its  leading  article,  "  that 
personalities  have  been  too  much  indulged  in,  and 
we  cannot  conscientiously  acquit  Mr.  Vicars  of 
being  chiefly  to  blame.  No  doubt  Mr.  Trewint 
has  responded  in  terms  which  cannot  possibly  be 
defended,  but  Mr.  Vicars  commenced  the  duel  by 
alleging  that  Mr.  Trewint  had  been  fined  for 
drunkenness  in  public  places,  a  charge  which  is 
found  to  refer  to  Mr.  Trewint's  undergraduate 
days.  We  trust  this  unseemly  wrangling  will 
cease,  and  we  advise  Mr.  Vicars  to  withdraw  his 
latest  innuendo." 

Everyone  with  whom  I  came  in  contact  ex- 
[226] 


CALUMNY 

pressed  their  utmost  disbelief  in  Mr.  Vicars'  veiled 
allegations,  but  I  have  little  doubt  that  most  people 
believed  that  there  was  some  foundation  for  them. 
When  insinuations  are  made  against  a  man,  his 
acquaintances  are  inclined  to  accept  them  as  true; 
their  tribute  to  his  possible  innocence  is  to  clamor 
for  "  proof."  "  There  is  no  smoke  without  fire  " 
is  a  proverb  which  embodies  more  injustice  than 
any  other  six  words  in  the  English  language. 

A  month  previously  I  should  not  have  minded, 
but  circumstances  had  changed.  I  was  in  love 
with  Milly;  I  could  no  longer  disguise  that  fact 
from  myself,  and  it  sometimes  seemed  to  me  that 
she  was  impressed,  almost  against  her  will,  by  the 
series  of  calumnies  to  which  I  was  exposed.  A 
young  man  is  sometimes  flattered  by  being  re- 
garded as  a  "  gay  dog,"  but  this  is  not  the  case 
when  his  aim  is  to  win  the  love  of  a  pure  woman. 

I  realized  that  Vicars  believed  every  word  he 
uttered,  and  I  knew  that  Trefusis  was  behind  him, 
whispering  lies  into  his  ear — lies  which  he  was  only 
too  willing  to  believe.  The  demon  of  jealousy 
was  at  work  in  his  brain,  and  for  the  time  being  he 
had  lost  his  reasoning  faculty.  I  could  under- 
stand, and  was  even  sorry  for  him.  And  yet  his 
constant  reiteration  on  all  occasions  of  charges  im- 
plying that  I  was  one  with  whom  no  decent  person 
[227] 


THE    TRIFLER 

should  associate  began  to  distress  me.  I  once  even 
consulted  Mr.  Telby's  solicitor,  but  he  advised  me 
to  do  nothing. 

"  So  far  Mr.  Vicars  had  made  no  specific  charge 
against  you,"  he  said,  "  with  the  exception  of  that 
of  drunkenness,  of  which  you  disposed.  As  to  the 
rest,  his  remarks  are  not  much  more  than  vulgar 
abuse,  and  by  our  law  one  man  is  entitled  to  abuse 
another." 

"  You  mean  I  have  no  remedy?  " 

"  I  don't  say  that,"  he  responded  guardedly. 
"  But,  in  any  case,  you  have  no  immediate  remedy, 
and,  therefore,  I  advise  you  to  seek  none.  Actions 
for  defamation  of  character  started  at  election 
times  are  usually  dropped  when  the  poll  is  de- 
clared. It  is  better  never  to  start  them." 

As  there  was  nothing  else  to  be  done,  I  deter- 
mined to  "  grin  and  bear  it."  In  the  meantime  the 
work  went  on,  and  I  put  my  shoulder  to  the  wheel 
and  worked  as  I  had  never  worked  before.  If  the 
election  was  lost,  people  would  say  it  was  due  to 
my  association  with  Mr.  Telby's  candidature,  and 
that  was  what  I  was  anxious  they  should  not  say. 

I  drove  over  one  day  to  Trewint  Hall  and 
looked  into  Mrs.  Tarling's  cottage.  She  was 
alone  when  I  entered.  I  asked  her  where  her  son 
was. 

[228] 


CALUMNY 

"In  the  town, .sir.  I  see  little  of  him.  He's 
so  busy  about  the  election." 

I  was  not  surprised  to  hear  this,  because  I  had 
noticed  that  Tarling  attended  all  our  meetings,  and 
usually  led  the  cheering.  I  shrewdly  suspected  he 
attended  the  opposition  meetings  in  a  -different  role. 

Just  as  I  was  leaving  he  came  in. 

"  Ah,  Tarling,"  I  said,  "  I  hear  you  are  work- 
ing very  hard  on  Mr.  Telby's  behalf." 

He  grinned  rather  sheepishhly.  "  On  your  be- 
half, sir." 

"  I  think,  perhaps,"  I  said,  "  a  little  less  en- 
thusiasm at  our  meetings  would  be  better.  I  have 
noticed  a  slight  tendency  to  noisiness  now  and 
then." 

"  I  can't  always  keep  the  boys  in  hand,"  he 
said.  "  They're  so  proud  of  you,  and  so  -dis- 
gusted with  the  lies  the  parson  keeps  telling." 

"  Your  late  master  is  at  the  bottom  of  that,"  I 
observed  rather  bitterly. 

He  nodded.  "  I  guessed  that,"  he  returned. 
"  But  let  him  wait.  We'll  teach  him  before  we've 
done  to  keep  his  dirty  lies  to  himself." 

"  You  take  care,  young  man,"  I  said.     "  Don't 

you  meddle  with  Mr.  Trefusis.     He  has  a  nasty 

knack  of  getting  even  with  those  who  annoy  him. 

He  is  getting  even  with  me  at  the  present  moment." 

[229] 


THE    TRIFLER 

"  The  last  word  isn't  spoken,"  he  returned 
doggedly.  "  This  is  Trewint,  and  Mr.  Trefusis 
can't  come  and  do  what  he  likes  here.  The  boys 
will  have  something  to  say  to  him  before  he  leaves, 
or  I  am  mistaken." 

It  did  not  seem  useful  to  continue  the  discussion. 
"  While  you  are  my  servant,  Tarling,"  I  said 
peremptorily,  "  just  keep  out  of  all  mischief.  If 
it  got  known  that  you  disturbed  Mr.  Vicars'  meet- 
ings, it  would  be  exceedingly  awkward  for  me.  In 
fact,  I  don't  want  you  to  attend  any  of  them  in 
future.  You  understand  ?" 

"  Very  well,  sir,"  he  replied  respectfully. 

The  old  woman  intervened  in  her  high  quaver. 
"  He  was  real  good  to  me,  was  Mr.  Vicars,  when 
I  was  down  with  the  rheumatics;  sitting  on  that 
very  chair,  Master  Fred,  reading  me  the  Word 
twice  a  week  as  certain  as  the  clock.  But  there,  he 
oughtn't  to  call  one  of  the  family  names,  and  that 
he  oughtn't." 

"  Oh,  he's  a  good  enough  fellow,"  I  said  care- 
lessly; "but  I  wish  he  wouldn't  repeat  all  these 
lies  about  me." 

"  It's  Mr.  Trefusis,"  said  her  son,  with  con- 
viction. 

"  Then  Mr.  Trefusis  ought'r  be  ashamed," 
cried  his  mother. 

I  230  1 


CALUMNY 

"  And  so  he  should !  "  I  assented  very  heartily. 

But  although  the  newspapers  called  on  Mr. 
Vicars  to  prove  or  withdraw  his  insinuations,  he 
would  do  neither  the  one  nor  the  other.  He  con- 
tinued to  deal  in  veiled  innuendoes,  and  I  continued 
to  demand  specific  instances.  But  although  he 
would  not  speak  out,  lying-tongued  rumor  was  not 
so  circumspect.  A  hundred  and  one  stories,  with 
the  most  circumstantial  details,  were  in  circulation 
throughout  Trewint.  There  was  hardly  a  fash- 
ionable woman  about  town  whose  name  was  not 
bandied  about  in  connection  with  mine.  The  wild 
orgies  in  which  I  was  reputed  to  have  taken  part 
would  have  satisfied  the  not  too  fastidious  taste  of 
a  Roman  emperor.  Many  of  these  monstrous 
fabrications  came  to  my  ears,  and  many,  I  suppose, 
did  not.  Whether  they  were  started  maliciously 
or  whether  their  origin  was  due  to  the  love  people 
have  of  pretending  to  special  information,  I  did 
not  know.  Personally,  I  was  convinced  that 
Trefusis  was  responsible  for  most,  if  not  all. 
Whether  this  was  so  or  not,  the  fact  remained  that 
fabrications,  all  exhibiting  me  as  the  center  of  a 
thousand  intrigues,  were  freely  passing  from  mouth 
to  mouth,  repeated  by  friend  and  foe  alike. 

What  could  I  do?  Even  to  a  late  stage  of  the 
election  these  stories  were  eagerly  retailed  and  very 


THE    TRIFLER 

readily  believed,  and  there  is  little  doubt  they  had 
the  effect  of  turning  the  Nonconformist  influence 
dead  against  Mr.  Telby.  If  the  election  had 
taken  place  a  week  earlier,  I  think  Mr.  Rapley 
would  have  been  elected  by  a  large  majority.  But 
a  reaction  set  in.  Mr.  Vicars,  people  began  to 
feel,  was  going  too  far.  At  one  of  Mr.  Rapley's 
meetings,  a  local  butcher,  who  had  at  one  time  been 
ejected  from  his  shop  by  Mr.  Telby  for  non-pay- 
ment of  rent,  made  a  speech  in  which  he  hoped, 
"  for  the  sake  of  humanity,  that  it  was  not  true 
that  Mr.  Telby  was  about  to  marry  his  daughter 
to  this  reprobate.  If  it  were  true,  it  was  a  shame 
— a  crying  shame.  The  young  lady  deserved  a 
better  fate."  I  can  imagine  that  at  this  point  the 
speaker  looked  meaningly  towards  Mr.  Vicars,  for 
his  love  story  was  well  known  in  the  town.  At 
any  rate,  it  was  all  over  the  neighborhood  in  a  day 
or  two  that  Molly  and  I  were  engaged  to  be  mar- 
ried. Everyone  accepted  the  statement  as  true, 
and  I  even  had  a  letter  from  my  sister-in-law,  not 
expressing  a  doubt  of  its  truth,  but  only  inquiring 
when  the  engagement  was  to  be  announced. 

Now,  I  did  not  contra-diet  the  rumor.     It  was 

a  mere  rumor,  and  I  had  a  certain  feeling  of 

delicacy  in  speaking  to  Mr.  Telby  on  the  subject. 

I  guessed  he  did  not  discourage  the  coupling  of  his 

[232] 


CALUMNY 

daughter's  name  with  mine,  and  it  seemed  to  me 
best  to  ignore  the  matter. 

But  this  gossip  had  a  curious  effect.  Persons, 
women  especially,  who  had  been  willing  enough  to 
believe  me  guilty  of  all  sorts  of  Don  Juan-like 
escapades,  now  began  to  frame  another  tale,  and 
one  not  far  removed  from  the  truth.  Perhaps, 
too,  Mr.  Telby's  agent  helped  the  rival  story.  It 
was  to  impute  to  Mr.  Vicars  the  ignoble  passion  of 
jealousy  as  the  motive  for  his  animus  against  me. 
It  explained  everything  to  many  minds;  a  reaction 
set  in,  which  grew,  and  was  at  its  strongest  on  the 
day  of  the  poll. 


[233] 


CHAPTER  XVI 

TRIUMPH 

WHEN  the  polling  booths  closed,  no  one 
ventured  to  predict  the  result.  The 
boxes  were  removed  to  the  Town  Hall, 
and  the  counting  of  the  votes  commenced  forth- 
with. As  the  declaration  of  the  poll  was  not 
expected  till  ten  o'clock  at  the  earliest,  Mr.  Telby 
decided  that  we  should  go  back  to  Dewhurst,  re- 
turning after  dinner. 

We  were  all  too  anxious  and  excited  to  make 
much  of  a  meal,  and  we  had  hardly  finished  when 
Mr.  Telby  was  eager  to  be  back  at  the  Town 
Hall. 

"  I  want  to  be  sure  that  all  my  votes  are  credited 
to  me,"  he  said.  "  It's  just  as  well  to  see  with 
one's  own  eyes  that  there  is  no  hanky-panky." 

I  laughed,  but  made  no  objection  to  starting  at 
once. 

"  Don't  wait  up,  girls,"  said  Mr.  Telby.  "  We 
may  be  late." 

"  Of  course  we'll  wait  up,"  cried  Milly  in- 
[  235  3 


THE    TRIFLER 

dignantly.     "  Do  you  think  we  can  sleep  till  we 
know  the  result?  " 

We  drove  rapidly  into  Trewint.  Although  it 
was  hardly  nine,  there  was  already  a  considerable 
crowd  before  the  Town  Hall.  Our  advent  was 
greeted  with  mingled  cheers  and  groans,  but  the 
former  predominated. 

"  The  rowdy  element  again,"  I  observed  to  Mr. 
Telby. 

"  I  cannot  understand,"  he  returned  testily, 
"  why  you  insist  on  regarding  my  more  enthusiastic 
supporters  as  rowdies." 

We  watched  the  clerks  counting  the  votes.  So 
far  as  we  could  ascertain,  Mr.  Telby  led,  but  there 
were  several  districts  still  to  be  accounted  for. 
We  had  not  been  in  the  room  long  when  we  were 
joined  by  the  Liberal  candidate  and  Mr.  Vicars. 
They  were  in  evening  dress,  and  had  evidently  been 
dining  together. 

Mr.  Telby  shook  his  opponent  by  the  hand,  but 
ignored  the  minister.  "  Whatever  may  be  the 
result  of  the  election,  and  however  much  I  may 
regret  the  personal  element  that  has  been  intro- 
duced into  this  contest,"  he  said,  in  his  grandiose 
manner,  "  I  trust  that  you  and  I,  Mr.  Rapley,  will 
not  permit  our  friendly  relations  to  be  inter- 
rupted." 

[236] 


TRIUMPH 

Mr.  Rapley,  a  quiet,  inoffensive  man,  seemed  a 
little  alarmed. 

"  Oh,  dear  no;  why,  certainly — by  all  means — 
not." 

He  was  close  to  me.  I  held  out  my  hand.  "  I 
don't  think  we've  met  before,"  I  said. 

He  took  my  hand,  with  a  nervous  glance  in 
Vicars'  direction.  "  I  am  pleased,  very  pleased, 
to  make  your  acquaintance,"  he  returned  hurriedly. 
"  Perhaps  you  will  allow  me  to  say  I  am  sorry, 
most  sorry  that — that  language  has  been  used — 
rather  stronger  perhaps " 

"  Oh,  strong  language  doesn't  count  for  any- 
thing at  election  times,"  I  said  lightly.  "  And, 
you  know,  '  hard  words  break  no  bones.' ' 

"  Possibly — probably  not,"  he  answered. 
"  Yet — I  am  not  sure  that  I  have  always  seen  eye 
to  eye  with  my  friend,  Mr.  Vicars,  as  to  certain 
phases  of  this  contest.  However " 

"  It's  all  over  now,"  I  observed  cheerfully. 

He  seemed  glad  to  quit  the  subject.  "  I've  been 
dining  at  the  *  Swan,' "  he  ran  on,  "  with  an  old 
university  friend  of  yours,  Mr.  Trefusis,  a  very 
pleasant  and  well-informed  young  man.  He — he 
spoke  very  highly  of  you." 

"  Did  he  indeed?  "  I  replied  rather  grimly. 

"Of — of  your  abilities,  at  any  rate."  He 
[237] 


THE    TRIFLER 

stopped,  as  if  conscious  that  he  was  making  rather 
a  mess  of  it.  He  looked  vaguely  round  the  room. 
"  I  expected  him  to  follow  us  here." 

At  that  moment,  the  crowd  outside,  which  had 
been  passing  the  time  by  alternately  cheering  and 
groaning  the  two  candidates,  Mr.  Vicars,  and 
another  individual,  suddenly  burst  into  wild  and 
discordant  yells.  We  all  made  for  the  windows, 
and  a  curious  spectacle  met  our  gaze. 

The  Market  Square,  which  is  well  lighted  by 
arc  lamps,  is  exactly  opposite  to  the  Town  Hall. 
Looking  out  of  the  windows,  we  could  see  a  surg- 
ing mass  of  people,  whose  faces  gleamed  white  in 
the  artificial  light.  But  we  were  no  longer  the 
attraction,  for  the  crowd  had  shifted  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  "  Swan "  Hotel,  which  faces  the 
Market  Square  on  its  right  side.  In  the  center  of 
the  mob  there  seemed  to  be  a  little  compact  ball  of 
humanity,  which  swayed  and  heaved  to  and  fro. 

"Whatever  is  the  matter?"  cried  Mr.  Telby, 
and  we  all  echoed  the  question. 

"  About  a  score  of  men,"  observed  Mr.  Rapley, 
after  a  long  scrutiny,  "  seem  to  be  tearing  to  pieces 
some  unhappy  wretch." 

"  A  pickpocket,  no  doubt,"  I  suggested. 

"  Ah,  very  likely,"  responded  Mr.  Rapley,  and 
the  interest  diminished. 

[238] 


TRIUMPH 

"  But  what  are  they  going  to  do  with  him?  "  I 
asked  suddenly. 

"They  seem  to  be  making  for  the  horse  trough," 
returned  Mr.  Rapley.  There  was  a  large  stone 
trough  in  front  of  the  hotel.  "  They  probably 
intend  to  duck  him." 

"  And  quite  right  too,"  remarked  Mr.  Telby. 

Mr.  Vicars  had  joined  us  at  the  window.  "  I 
am  not  sure,"  he  said,  "  that  it  is  not  our  duty  to 
interfere.  I  am  no  supporter  of  lynch  law." 

Mr.  Telby  turned  towards  him  contemptuously. 
"  Pray  go  rescue  him,"  he  retorted  sneeringly. 
"  It  will  be  certain  to  make  the  crowd  choose  an- 
other victim." 

Mr.  Vicars  did  not  reply,  but  he  moved  uneasily 
as  if  unable  to  make  up  his  mind. 

By  this  time,  the  little  solid  knot  of  men  had 
dragged  their  victim  to  the  edge  of  the  trough. 
The  next  moment  the  man's  body  was  suspended  on 
high  by  a  score  of  arms,  and  then  swish  1  it  was  in 
the  trough!  We  could  see  the  water  pouring 
over  the  edge. 

Mr.  Rapley  was  peering  over  my  shoulder. 
"What  a  time  they  are  holding  him  down!" 
he  exclaimed.  "  Do  they  want  to  drown 
him?" 

"  We  must  really  do  something,"  I  cried  im- 
[239] 


THE    TRIFLER 

pulsively.  "  Hang  it,  we  can't  let  them  kill  the 
fellow." 

Again  the  man's  body  was  lifted  upwards. 
For  a  moment  it  was  poised  overhead,  and,  swish  I 
he  was  in  the  water  again. 

"  Come,"  said  I,  and  touched  Vicars  on  the  arm. 

In  less  than  a  minute  we  were  struggling  with 
the  crowd.  We  fought  our  way  through  the  mob, 
most  of  whom  seemed  associated  only  by  curiosity 
with  what  was  passing  in  the  center.  I  lost  Vicars, 
but  we  both  gained  the  trough  together. 

"  Stop  this,"  shouted  Vicars.  "  Are  you  men 
or  brutes?  " 

The  active  participators  in  the  affair  were  not 
more  than  fifteen  or  twenty  men.  They  turned 
defiantly  at  Vicars'  words.  Their  wretched  vic- 
tim was  bubbling  and  gasping,  making  frenzied 
efforts  to  escape  from  his  bath. 

"  It's  Vicars ! "  cried  one  of  the  men,  who 
seemed  to  be  their  leader.  "  Hooray,  let's  duck 
him !  "  I  recognized  with  a  sinking  heart  the 
author  of  the  suggestion  as  my  servant  Tarling. 
Some  of  his  companions  made  a  grab  for  Vicars, 
and  I  think  it  would  not  have  gone  well  with  him 
if  I  had  not  interfered. 

;t  This  must  not  go  on,"  I  cried  sternly,  and 
knocked  one  of  the  men  down.  They  turned  on 
[240] 


TRIUMPH 

me,  and  then,  for  just  one  second,  Tailing's  eyes 
and  mine  met. 

"It's  Mr.  Freddy  Trewint,"  he  shouted. 
"  Three  cheers  for  Mr.  Freddy  Trewint !  " 

The  cheers  were  given,  and  then  Tarling  had  the 
grace  to  disappear.  I  saw  him  no  more  that 
night. 

"  Let  that  man  go,"  I  commanded,  pointing  to 
the  wretched  object  in  the  trough,  and  they  let  him 
go,  and  then,  following  their  leader,  melted  away 
in  the  crowd.  I  went  and  helped  the  man  out  of 
his  bath.  If  it  had  not  been  that  his  struggles  had 
partially  emptied  the  trough,  I  think  he  would  have 
been  drowned.  As  it  was,  he  had  almost  to  be 
lifted  out. 

"Will  you  take  one  arm?"  I  said  to  Vicars. 
"  He  is  half  dead." 

And  then  I  noticed  that,  though  he  was  in  rags, 
his  rags  had  once  been  dress  clothes.  His  hair  was 
plastered  over  his  face,  but  there  was  something 
familiar  in  his  appearance.  I  think  his  identity 
dawned  on  Vicars  and  myself  simultaneously. 

"Trefusisl" 

And  so  it  was.  Then  I  understood  Tarling's 
participation. 

"Where  shall  we  take  him?"  I  asked,  feeling 
as  if  I  were  in  some  way  to  blame  for  his  plight. 
[241] 


THE    TRIFLER 

"  To  the  Town  Hall,"  returned  Vicars.  "  I 
will  send  for  a  cab  and  take  him  home." 

So  we  dragged  the  dejected  wretch  through  the 
curious  crowd  and  up  the  stone  steps  of  the  Town 
Hall.  We  were  met  by  most  of  the  members  of 
the  two  election  committees,  headed  by  the  rival 
candidates.  They  pressed  forward  with  many 
questions. 

Trefusis,  still  spluttering  and  gasping,  was 
slowly  regaining  his  breath.  He  was  evidently  not 
much  the  worse  for  his  experiences,  but  he  pre- 
sented a  sorry  figure.  His  coat  was  in  rags,  and 
his  shirt,  bereft  of  starch,  had  given  way  at  the 
neck,  exposing  his  bare  chest.  His  tattered  gar- 
ments clung  round  him  like  a  woman's  bathing 
costume,  and  his  course  was  marked  by  little 
streams  of  water.  For  some  minutes  before  he 
was  fully  capable  of  speech  he  had  been  gesticu- 
lating wildly,  and  pointing  in  my  direction. 

"  He  did  this !  He  is  responsible  for  this !  " 
were  his  first  articulate  words. 

Everyone  stood  round  him,  eying  him  with 
great  curiosity,  as  if  he  were  some  strange  animal. 

"Don't — don't  you  think,"  said  Mr.  Rapley 
in  his  hesitating  way,  "  he  will  catch  cold?  " 

"  I  certainly  think  he  ought  to  be  taken  home," 
said  Mr.  Telby.  "  Most  remarkable  incident !  I 
[242] 


Trefusis. 


TRIUMPH 

cannot  help  feeling  that  Mr.  Trefusis  is  a  martyr 
to  his  friendship  with  Mr.  Vicars.  There  can  be 
no  doubt  that  the  methods  Mr.  Vicars  has  thought 
fit  to  employ  do  not  commend  themselves  to  an 
English  electorate.  And  this  is  the  unhappy 
result." 

"  He  did  this !  He  did  this !  "  gasped  Trefusis, 
impotently  indicating  me. 

"  I  hope  his  mind  has  not  given  way,"  said  Mr. 
Rapley,  benevolently  regarding  him  through 
folded  pince-nez. 

Mr.  Vicars  had  been  gloomily  silent.  "  The 
matter  will  have  to  be  inquired  into,"  he  said  at 
length,  "  and  if  Mr.  Trewint  is  responsible,  he  will 
answer  for  it." 

"  Fiddle-de-dee!  "  returned  Mr.  Telby. 

"  I — I  think  he  should  be  taken  away,"  hinted 
Mr.  Rapley  gently. 

"  I  have  sent  for  a  cab,"  replied  Mr.  Vicars 
curtly.  "  Ah,  is  it  there?  At  the  back  entrance? 
Thank  you."  He  took  Trefusis  by  the  arm  and 
began  to  lead  him  away.  At  that  moment  a 
hurried  movement  on  the  staircase  made  us  turn. 

"  The  returning  officer  is  just  about  to  declare 
the  result  of  the  polling,"  shouted  someone. 

"  What  is  it?  What  is  it?  "  we  all  exclaimed, 
and  raced  pell-mell  up  the  stairs.  Trefusis  was 
[243] 


THE    TRIFLER 

left  to  shiver  alone,  for  even  Vicars  deserted  him. 
When  the  result  was  announced,  it  was  found  that 
Mr.  Telby  was  returned  as  the  Parliamentary 
representative  of  the  Borough  of  Trewint  by  a 
majority  of  seventy-three  votes  I 


[244] 


CHAPTER  XVII 

FAILURE 

I  TOOK  train  for  London  the  following  day, 
and  in  the  afternoon  called  on  my  brother. 
He  welcomed  me  with  a  warmth  which  it  has 
seldom  been  my  lot  to  receive  from  him. 

"  So  you  have  managed  to  pull  the  chestnuts 
out  of  the  fire?"  he  said,  shaking  my  hand — 
usually  we  met  with  a  curt  nod.  "  I  congratulate 
you ;  I  confess  it  was  more  than  I  expected.  The 
news  came  while  we  were  in  Committee  last  night, 
and  caused  a  good  deal  of  excitement.  I  happened 
to  speak  shortly  afterwards,  and  they  gave  me  a 
tremendous  reception." 

"  Did  they?  "  I  asked  absently. 

"  They  felt,  no  doubt,  that  my  name  and  in- 
fluence had  a  good  deal  to  do  with  the  result." 

"  No  doubt,"  I  replied  indifferently.  "  How's 
Mabel?" 

But  Mabel  entered  at  the  moment,  and,  flutter- 
ing up,  kissed  me  on  both  cheeks. 

"Dear,  dear  Fred,"  cried  she.      "So  many, 

[245] 


THE    TRIFLER 

many  congratulations.  What  a  dear,  clever  boy 
you  are." 

"  Do  you  know  what  the  Prime  Minister  said  to 
me  last  night?  "  asked  Gerald. 

"No;  what?" 

"  '  Smart  young  fellow,  your  brother;  we  ought 
to  have  him  in  the  House.' ' 

"  Did  he  really  say  that?  "  asked  Mabel. 

"  He  did,  indeed." 

"  Then  he's  heard  about  it  too?  " 

"Heard  what?" 

"  Why,  about  Fred's  engagement,  of  course." 

Gerald  smiled.  "  No,  my  dear,  he  was  not 
alluding  to  that."  He  turned  to  me,  and  in  the 
gayety  of  his  heart  dug  me  in  the  ribs.  On  the 
whole,  I  prefer  my  brother  in  his  more  sober 
moods. 

"  I'm  not  engaged,"  I  replied  curtly. 

But  they  declined  to  believe  me,  putting  my 
denial  down  to  natural  coyness. 

"  Not  actually  engaged,  perhaps,"  suggested  my 
brother;  "but — well,  on  the  border  line.  Eh, 
what?-  Little  love  passages  now  and  again? 
Ah,  you  dog !  " 

I  dare  say  I  reddened — who  would  not? — and 
this  was  deemed  proof  positive. 

"  You  are  not  to  tease  Fred,"  said  Mabel  in- 
[246] 


FAILURE 

diligently.     "  I  dare  say  he  has  had  to  work  very 
hard  lately,  and  is  very  tired.     Sit  down,  Fred." 

"  I  must  go,"  I  said  hastily. 

My  brother  had  taken  up  a  position  in  front  of 
the  fireplace  and  evidently  intended  a  prolonged 
chat.  "  Nonsense,"  he  cried  testily.  "  I  want  to 
hear  all  about  the  election.  Is  it  true  they  ducked 
your  friend  Trefusis,  as  the  Times  says?  " 

Mabel  gave  a  little  cry.  "  Mr.  Trefusis !  "  she 
exclaimed.  "  Was  he  at  Trewint?  " 

"  Of  course  he  was,"  responded  Gerald.  "  Vic- 
ars' right-hand  man,  wasn't  he,  Fred  ?  " 

Mabel  subsided  suddenly  into  a  chair. 

"  I  wish  it  had  been  Vicars  who  had  got 
ducked,"  continued  Gerald.  "  The  Times  says 
they  would  have  done  so  if  you  had  not  intervened. 
If  that's  the  case,  it  was  the  silliest  thing  you  did 
during  the  election.  By  Jove,  I  would  have  given 
a  hundred  pounds  to  have  seen  it  I  " 

"  Mr.  Trefusis  ducked  1 "  said  Mabel  in  a  faint 
voice. 

I  rose.  "  It  was  an  unfortunate  incident,  which 
I  very  much  regret.  But  I  really  must  go.  I 
have  an  appointment." 

Gerald  regarded  me  for  a  moment.  "  Do  you 
know,  Fred,  you  have  aged  ten  years?  " 

"  Absurd  1 "  I  cried  angrily. 
[247] 


THE    TRIFLER 

"Hasn't  he,  Mabel?" 

Mabel  looked  at  me  thoughtfully.  "  You  do 
seem  more — more  serious,"  said  she.  "  But  I 
like  you  best  like  that."  And  then  she  rose  with 
less  than  her  usual  deliberateness.  "  Now  I  un- 
derstand why  that  Mr.  Vicars  said  all  those  horrid 
things  about  you — and — and  I'm  afraid  you've 
been  having  a  dreadful  time.  I  am  sorry,  Fred, 
so — so  sorry." 

"  I  haven't  been  having  a  dreadful  time,"  I  re- 
plied, trying  to  speak  lightly.  "  I've  had,  on  the 
whole,  a  very  jolly  time." 

"  Miss  Telby  saw  to  that,"  chuckled  my 
brother. 

Mabel  looked  at  me  fixedly.  "  Miss  Telby?  " 
she  repeated  slowly.  "  I  wonder  if  she's  good 
enough  for  Fred." 

"  Good  enough !  "  echoed  my  brother.  "  Great 
heavens !  " 

I  felt  embarrassed.  "  If  I  ever  marry,"  I  said 
slowly,  "  it  will  be  someone  far  too  good  for 
me." 

Gerald  put  his  head  on  one  side  and  shut  one 
eye. 

"  When  is  something  definite  likely  to  be  fixed 
up  between  you  and  Telby's  girl?  "  he  asked. 

"  I—- 1  don't  know."     And  I  fled  hastily. 
[248] 


FAILURE 

Why  should  they  torment  me  like  this?  I 
walked  down  Piccadilly  full  of  misery.  Only  a 
few  hours  ago  I  had  walked  with  Milly  in  the 
gardens  at  Dewhurst,  but  how  long  ago  it  seemed  1 
I  recalled  every  word  of  our  conversation,  and  the 
recollection  made  my  nerves  quiver  afresh.  Per- 
haps she  was  right;  perhaps  I  should  only  make 
her  unhappy.  There  were  other  women  in  the 
world.  But  I  knew  that,  so  far  as  I  was  con- 
cerned, there  was  only  one. 

My  mind  was  full  of  our  last  interview.  That 
morning  I  had  asked  her  to  come  into  the  garden, 
and  she  had  consented  readily.  As  we  came  into 
the  sunlight,  I  noticed  that  there  were  black  rings 
round  her  eyes,  and  I  asked  her  if  she  was  well. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  "  except  that  I  did  not 
sleep  last  night." 

"How  was  that?" 

"  I  was  making  up  my  mind  about  something." 

I  looked  at  her  quickly.  "  I  suppose  I  mustn't 
ask  about  what  ?" 

She  shook  her  head.  We  were  out  of  sight  of 
the  house,  and  I  stopped  suddenly. 

"  Milly,"  I  said,  "  I  told  you  last  night  that  I 
wanted  to  speak  to  you  before  I  left  for  town. 
You  must  know,  for  women  always  know  these 
things,  what  it  is  I  have  to  say." 
[249] 


THE    TRIFLER 

She  turned  away.  "  Please  do  not  go  on,  Mr. 
Trewint,"  she  replied. 

"  I  must  go  on.  I  love  you,  Milly,  and  I  must 
tell  you  so." 

"  I  am  sorry  you  have  told  me  this." 

"  You  cannot  love  me?  " 

"  I  cannot  marry  you."  She  raised  her  eyes 
slowly  to  mine. 

I  stopped  dead.     "  Why?  "  I  asked  abruptly. 

"  I  do  not  think  you  would  make  me  happy.  I 
do  not  think  I  should  make  you  happy." 

"Why?" 

"  Do  not  make  me  explain.  It  will  only  cause 
you  to  think  me  what  I  have  already  told  you  I 


am." 


"  You  mean,"  I  said,  "  that  I  am  not  good 
enough  for  you?  " 

"  I  mean  that  we  look  at  the  world  from  dif- 
ferent standpoints.  Oh,  I  know  that  if  I  try  to  ex- 
plain I  shall  only  make  you  laugh  at  me." 

"  I  shall  not  laugh  at  you,"  I  said,  grimly 
enough. 

"  We  are  so  different,"  she  went  on  desperately. 
"  To  you  life  isn't  anything  serious — the  world  is 
merely  a  pleasant  place  to  pass  the  time.  To  me 
—oh,  how  priggish  it  sounds,  but  I  am  only  telling 
you  what  is  in  my  heart — life  is  full  of  duties.  If 
[250] 


FAILURE 

I  marry  you,  I  must  give  up  what  I  consider  to  be 
essential." 

"  You  can  still  pursue  your  duties,  even  though 
you  marry  me,"  I  said. 

Her  forehead  was  furrowed.  "  You  do  not  un- 
derstand me,"  she  answered  quickly.  "  Life  is  so 
real  and  earnest  to  me  that  I  cannot  consent  to 
marry  a  man  who,  by  his  own  admission,  is  a  mere 
trifler." 

I  was  silent.  "  Is  that  your  only  reason?  "  I 
said  at  length.  "  You  are  sure  you  are  not  swayed 
by  the  lies  which  have  been  told  about  me  for  the 
last  three  weeks?  Are  you  sure  of  that?  " 

She  hesitated.  "  I — do  not  think  so,"  she  said 
at  length. 

"  Do  you  believe  them  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Are  you  certain  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  I  believe  them." 

"  You  don't  think?  "  I  said  bitterly. 

She  made  a  sudden  movement  to  my  side  and 
laid  her  hand  on  my  arm.  "Ah,  I  have  hurt 
you,"  she  cried,  the  tears  starting  to  her  eyes.  "  I 
did  not  mean  to  do  that." 

"  If  I  were  to  swear  to  you  that  all  these  stories 
were  false,  would  it  make  any  difference  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head.  "  No.  It  would  make 
[251] 


THE    TRIFLER 

no  difference.  I  have  thought  it  over,  and  I  know 
that  we  are  not  suited  to  one  another.  It  is  far 
better  we  should  part." 

I  held  out  my  hand  and  she  put  hers  into  it. 
Her  face  was  turned  away,  but  I  saw  she  was 
weeping. 

"  Oh,  Milly,  Milly,"  I  said,  "  aren't  we  going 
to  make  a  stupid  mistake,  you  and  I  ?  Are  we  not 
going  to  part  on  absurdly  inadequate  grounds? 
And  don't  you  think  we  shall  regret  it  all  our 
lives?" 

Her  womanly  pride  was  roused.  "  Right  or 
wrong,"  she  cried,  with  offended  dignity,  "  I  am 
entitled  to  my  choice,  and  I  have  made  it." 

"  I   believe,"   said   I   softly,    "  that   you   love 


me." 


She  wrested  her  hand  from  mine,  and  turned  her 
flushed  face  from  me. 

**  Yes,"  she  cried  defiantly,  "  I  do  love  you,  but 
I  shall  not  marry  you."  And  then,  without  look- 
ing back,  she  hurried  away  in  the  direction  of  the 
house. 

Was  this  the  end?  I  told  myself  as  I  walked 
down  Piccadilly  that  it  was  only  the  beginning. 
The  lies  that  had  been  told  about  me — and  I  knew 
not  what  she  might  have  heard — had  influenced 
her,  perhaps  unconsciously;  but  her  sense  of  pro- 
[252] 


FAILURE 

portion  would  reassert  itself.  She  would  recon- 
sider her  decision  later  on.  So  I  tried  to  comfort 
myself,  but  with  little  avail.  The  fact  remained 
that  the  woman  I  loved  had  refused  to  be  my  wife 
because  she  deemed  me  unworthy  of  her. 


[253] 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

HIS   REAL    FRIEND 

MY  life  fell  into  its  old  routine,  and  I 
drifted  aimlessly  through  the  days. 
But  I  no  longer  found  the  same  pleasure 
in  the  gentle  diversions  which  had  formerly  made 
up  the  sum  of  my  existence.  Milly  was  always  in 
my  thoughts,  and  I  hardly  dared  to  attend  a  race 
meeting  or  a  polo  match,  lest  some  stupid  society 
paragraph  should  chronicle  my  presence,  and 
Milly,  reading  it,  should  distastefully  turn  up  her 
pretty  nose  at  this  further  evidence  of  my 
triviality. 

One  day  my  brother  happened  to  mention 
casually  that  one  of  Lord  Welford's  secretaries 
(unpaid)  had  received  an  official  appointment.  I 
heard  the  news  nonchalantly,  until  it  united  itself 
in  my  mind  with  the  realization  that  the  days  were 
now  very  long. 

"  I  should  rather  like  the  job,"  I  observed 
thoughtfully. 

My  brother  raised  his  eyebrows.  "  My  dear 
[255] 


THE    TRIFLER 

fellow,  how  often  have  I  offered  to  make  you  ray 
secretary?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  want  to  be  your  secretary,"  I  re- 
turned rudely. 

My  brother  winced.  "  Oh,  am  I  not  good 
enough  ?  But  do  I  understand  your  highness  will 
condescend  to  assist  Lord  Welford?  " 

"  You  see,"  I  said  apolegetically,  for  I  saw  I 
had  hurt  his  feelings,  "  Welford  is  at  the  War 
Office.  It  is  the  only  department  in  which  I  take 
the  slightest  interest." 

"  Oh,  indeed,"  responded  Gerald,  still  offended, 
"  and  let  me  tell  you  a  more  ill-managed  depart- 
ment, or  a  more  incompetent  head,  you  will  not 
find  elsewhere." 

"  Very  likely,"  I  returned  carelessly,  and 
thought  no  more  of  the  matter.  A  few  days  later 
my  brother  came  and  told  me  that  he  had  arranged 
matters  with  Lord  Welford,  and  that  he  would 
accept  my  services. 

"  Oh,  bother,"  I  said  ungraciously,  for  by  that 
time  my  sudden  zeal  had  evaporated. 

"  You  said  yourself "  began  Gerald,  with 

rising  wrath. 

"  But  that  was  nearly  a  week  ago,"  I  objected. 

My  brother  glowered  at  me.  "  You  young 
jackass  1 "  he  exclaimed.  "  Do  you  think  I  am 
[256] 


HIS    REAL    FRIEND 

going  to  be  humbugged  in  this  way?  At  my  re- 
quest, Lord  Welford  kindly  agrees  to  take  as  his 
secretary  an  imbecile  without  an  idea  in  his  empty 
head — and  then  the  helpless  idiot  changes  his  mind 
and — and " 

Milly  floated  before  my  mental  vision,  charm- 
ingly disdainful.  "  You  are  quite  right,"  I  said 
humbly;  "  I  am  an  empty-headed  idiot.  But  I  am 
not  so  foolish  as  to  refuse  the  position  your  kind- 
ness has  found  for  me.  I  will  accept  the  post,  if 
Lord  Welford  will  have  me." 

Gerald's  anger  faded  away.  "  You  are  very 
changeable,  Fred,"  he  said,  almost  sadly.  "  Since 
you  went  to  Trewint  you  have  seemed  a  different 
man.  What  is  it?" 

"  Why,  nothing,"  I  replied  hastily. 

He  looked  at  me  fixedly,  shook  his  head,  sighed, 
and  left  me.  I  suppose  my  brother  Gerald  was 
fonder  of  me  than  I  gave  him  credit  for. 

A  trial,  which  at  times  seemed  almost  more  than 
I  could  bear,  was  the  repeated  rumor  of  my  en- 
gagement to  Molly  Telby.  I  dare  say  Mabel  had 
something  to  do  with  its  persistence,  though,  no 
doubt,  Mr.  Telby  assisted.  Go  where  I  might,  I 
was  met  with  congratulations.  I  contradicted  the 
story  time  after  time,  and  people  smiled  knowingly 
and  "  hoped  they  hadn't  been  indiscreet."  At 

[257] 


THE    TRIFLER 

length  I  got  callous,  and  let  them  say  what  they 
liked.  After  all,  what  did  it  matter?  If  I  was 
not  engaged  to  Molly,  I  wanted  to  be  engaged  to 
Milly;  and  if  either  of  them  didn't  like  the  report, 
let  her  deny  it.  It  was  their  business  as  much  as 
minel 

I  was  continually  meeting  Trefusis.  He  would 
look  at  me  with  a  grave,  almost  reproachful  look; 
and  I  would  turn  away  curtly,  for  I  felt  nothing 
he  could  say  or  do  would  ever  rid  me  of  the  feel- 
ings of  distrust  and  aversion  with  which  I  regarded 
him.  He  seemed  anxious  to  show  by  his  manner 
that  he  wanted  to  meet  me  on  amicable  terms,  but 
I  gave  him  no  encouragement. 

One  evening,  however,  I  happened  to  dine  at  my 
brother's  house,  and  after  dinner,  Mrs.  Fielders, 
who  was  present,  commenced  to  talk  about 
him. 

"  Isn't  it  very,  very  sad  about  poor  Mr.  Tre- 
fusis?" she  said. 

Mabel  jumped,  as  she  always  did,  at  the  mention 
of  his  name.  She  had  never  mastered  her  fear 
that  her  letters  to  him  might  come  to  her  husband's 
knowledge. 

Gerald  was  standing  with  his  back  to  the  fire, 
sipping  his  coffee.  "What  about?"  he  asked. 
"  Do  you  mean  that  ducking  he  got  at  Trewint? 
[258] 


HIS    REAL    FRIEND 

Serve  him  right.     *  Shun  bad  companions,'  as  the 
copy-books  say." 

"  I  wasn't  alluding  to  that,"  Mrs.  Fielders  con- 
tinued placidly,  "  though,  I  dare  say,  it  has  some- 
thing to  do  with  it.  It  must  be  most  dangerous  to 
be  ducked.  I  should  dislike  it  so  very  much." 

"  He  has  survived  it,  any  way,"  I  said. 

"  Ah,  but  haven't  you  heard?  The  doctors  say 
he  can't  live  more  than  a  few  months.  I  never 
liked  Mr.  Trefusis;  I  used  to  discourage  him 
almost  to  the  point  of  rudeness  when  he  hung  about 
Mabel.  Yet  he  is  very  good-looking,  and  it  is 
always  so  sad  to  know  that  a  familiar  face  will 
shortly  disappear." 

There  was  a  dead  silence.  Then  Gerald  put  his 
cup  and  saucer  on  the  mantelpiece  with  a  little 
rattle.  The  mention  of  death  always  has  a  discon- 
certing effect. 

"  Dear  me,  very  melancholy  indeed,"  he  said  at 
length. 

Mabel's  face  was  paler  than  usual.  "  Are  you 
sure,  mamma,  there  is  no  mistake  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  my  dear.  •  Everyone  is  talking  about 
it.  I  wonder  you  haven't  heard  of  it  before.  I 
saw  Mr.  Trefusis  yesterday,  and  his  face  quite 
chilled  me." 

**  What  is  wrong  with  him?  "  I  asked. 
[259] 


THE    TRIFLER 

"  Consumption,  I  am  told." 

"  How  horrible,"  Mabel  murmured.  Her  eyes 
caught  mine,  and  I  confess  I  did  not  like  to  see  in 
them  the  light  of  relief,  for  the  news  had  shocked 
me. 

"  A  lingering  death  is  remarkably  unpleasant," 
observed  Mrs.  Fielders,  with  the  air  of  one  learned 
in  psychology.  "  Fancy  marking  off  the  days  in  a 
calendar — one  day  less  to  live !  " 

"  Don't,  mother,  don't,"  cried  Mabel. 

"  And  yet  we  all  must  die,"  continued  Mrs. 
Fielders,  who  loved  to  moralize  when  a  fit  op- 
portunity presented  itself.  "  It  is  as  well  we 
should  remember  it.  Mabel,  we  will  go  and  hear 
the  dear  Bishop  next  Sunday." 

I  left  my  brother's  house  at  the  earliest  moment 
and  went  to  my  club,  with  a  half  intention  of 
speaking  to  Trefusis  if  I  found  him  there.  I  told 
myself  I  had  every  cause  to  cherish  feelings  of 
animosity  towards  him,  but,  at  the  same  time,  I 
could  not  hear  unmoved  that  day  by  day  he  had  to 
confront  the  certainty  of  an  early  death.  He  had 
behaved  disgracefully,  no  doubt;  but,  then,  per- 
haps he  realized  it. 

When  I  reached  the  club  I  found  him,  as  it 
chanced,  in  the  smoking  room  with  a  friend,  whom 
I  recognized  as  an  actor  called  Beaumont — a  man 
[260] 


HIS    REAL    FRIEND 

with  not  a  very  savory  reputation.  I  returned 
Trefusis'  nod  cordially,  Beaumont  left  him  shortly 
afterwards,  and  I  immediately  took  the  chair  thus 
vacated. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that  you  have  not  been 
well,"  I  began.  It  was  not  a  particularly  tactful 
opening. 

"  No,"  he  replied,  "  I  am  not  well." 

I  was  silent  for  a  few  moments.  "  I  hope  that 
stupid  episode  at  Trewint  did  not  hurt  you  ?  " 

He  hesitated.  "  No;  I  hardly  think  so,"  he  re- 
plied at  length.  "  Pray  do  not  think  that." 

The  impression  conveyed  to  my  mind  was  that 
he  wished  to  spare  my  feelings. 

"  I  trust,"  I  continued  awkwardly,  "  there  is 
nothing  very  seriously  wrong?  n 

He  leant  back  and  closed  his  eyes.  "  Nothing," 
he  replied,  with  a  little  bitter  laugh,  "  if  I  could 
ignore  what  the  doctors  say.  I  feel  perfectly 
well." 

"  What  do  they  say?  "  I  asked  gently. 

He  raised  himself  in  his  chair.  "  They  say  I 
am  dying." 

I  felt  it  would  be  mockery  to  offer  condolences 
or  express  regret,  and  yet  I  must  say  some- 
thing. 

"  I  hope  they  are  mistaken." 
[261] 


THE    TRIFLER 

"And  so  indeed  do  I."  He  let  himself  fall 
back  listlessly. 

"  I  am  terribly  shocked,"  I  said,  "  and  I  want 
to  say  how  sorry  I  am."  He  did  not  open  his 
eyes,  but  stretched  out  his  hand,  and  I  took  it. 

"  Thank  you  for  coming  to  me,"  he  said,  and 
his  voice  broke.  "  When  one  stands,  as  I  do, 
facing  the  unknown,  one's  views  of  life  change 
materially.  I  have  done  many  things  for  which  I 
am  sorry.  I  have  often  been  moved  by  ignoble 
impulses.  Perhaps,  though,  it  is  only  cowardice 
that  makes  me  want  to  repair  the  past." 

I  was  greatly  touched.  "  My  dear  fellow,  we 
all  make  mistakes." 

He  moved  restlessly.  "  I  am  glad  I  have  not 
injured  you,  though  I  admit  I  have  tried  to  do  so. 
I  hope  you  will  be  happy  with  the  girl  you  love; 
she  is  very  beautiful."  I  was  silent.  I  knew  he 
was  alluding  to  Molly,  and  it  was  on  my  lips  to  say 
she  was  nothing  to  me,  but  I  refrained.  It  would 
have  introduced  a  jarring  note. 

"  Are  you  sure  there  is  no  hope?  "  I  asked. 

He  shook  his  head  mournfully.  "  The  doctors 
say  I  may  prolong  my  life  a  little  if  I  go  back  to 
Australia.  So  I  am  going.  But,  as  to  a  cure,  I 
know  it  is  hopeless.  It  is  strange  how  one  clings  to 
life,  unhappy  though  it  may  be." 
[262] 


HIS    REAL    FRIEND 

"When  do  you  leave?"  I  asked,  to  say  some- 
thing. 

"  To-morrow  week."  He  raised  himself  again. 
"  Oh,  you  can't  tell  how  glad  I  am  you  have  spoken 
to  me.  It  has  taken  a  burden  off  my  mind.  For 
these  last  few  days  I  remain  in  England  I  may  con- 
sider you  my  friend,  may  I  not?  " 

"  Yes,  yes." 

"  There  is  but  little  time  left  to  say  good-by  to 
one's  friends,"  he  resumed  wistfully.  "  And  now 
that  I  leave  so  soon  I  should  like  to  ask  a  favor  of 
you.  If  you  don't  care  to  grant  it,  don't  hesitate 
to  say  so.  I  shall  not  mind,  for,  after  what  has 
passed,  you  will  be  justified." 

"  I  will  do  anything  I  can  to  please  you." 

"  It  is  really  nothing  much,"  he  went  on,  with  a 
nervous  laugh.  "  You  may  think  it  pure  senti- 
mentality, but  I  want  to  feel  you  are  once  more  my 
friend — to  feel  I  shall  not  leave  anyone  behind  who 
dislikes  me  when  I  go  on  my  far  journey." 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  do?"  I  asked 
sympathetically. 

"  Only  this.  Next  Thursday,  my  last  day  in 
England — I  leave  on  Friday — a  few  of  my  friends 
— my  real  friends — are  coming  to  my  rooms  to  say 
good-by.  I  am  going  to  give  a  farewell  supper- 
party.  Will  you  come  as  one  of  them  ?  " 
[263] 


THE    TRIFLER 

"  Of  course  I  will,"  I  replied  heartily. 

"  Thank  you."  He  rose  wearily  and  held  out 
his  hand.  "  The  -doctor  says  I  must  not  keep  late 
hours.  But  on  Thursday  I  must  risk  making  an 
exception.  We  are  going  first  to  the  *  Empire ' 
— it  is  quite  a  bachelor  party,  and  I  don't  want  it 
to  be  a  melancholy  one.  Supper  is  at  midnight  at 
my  chambers.  Perhaps  you  would  prefer  to  join 
us  then?" 

"  If  you  don't  mind,"  I  replied  hastily.  "  You 
see,  I  have  to  be  at  the  House  now  most  evenings." 

He  nodded.     "  Good-by  for  the  present." 

As  he  passed  out  his  face  was  mirrored  for  an 
instant  in  one  of  the  glasses  with  which  the  room  is 
paneled.  His  expression  haunted  me.  What  did 
it  mean  ? 


[264] 


CHAPTER  XIX 

ENTRAPPED 

GROSSING  Hyde  Park  a  few  days  later  I 
met  young  Gilbert  Telby.     He  seemed  in- 
clined to  hurry  on  with  a  passing  nod,  but 
I  stopped  short.    When  a  man  has  been  hungering 
for  weeks  for  news  of  the  girl  he  loves,  he  is  not 
likely  to  let  her  brother  slip  by  without  some  at- 
tempt at  conversation. 

I  was  astonished  by  his  altered  appearance. 
His  healthy  complexion  had  faded  to  a  pasty  yel- 
low, and  from  his  nervous,  anxious  manner  he 
might  have  passed  for  a  detected  pickpocket. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  I  asked,  almost  in- 
voluntarily. 

"  Matter  ? "  he  repeated,  with  a  laugh  that 
seemed  to  catch  somewhere  in  his  throat.  "  Noth- 
ing's the  matter." 

"  You  don't  look  well." 

"  I'm  ajil  right."  He  traced  figures  on  the 
gravel  path  with  the  point  of  his  walking  stick.  I 
looked  at  him  curiously,  and  he  writhed  under  my 
scrutiny. 

[265! 


THE    TRIFLER 

"  I  must  be  off,"  he  muttered.  "  I  have  an 
appointment." 

"  Which  way  are  you  going?  " 

He  pointed  vaguely  in  the  direction  of  Hyde 
Park  Corner. 

"  I'll  walk  along  with  you,"  I  said.  He  did  not 
seem  overjoyed,  but  we  moved  off  together. 

"  How  is  your  father?  "  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  he's  all  right." 

"And  Miss  Telby?" 

"  Oh,  she's  all  right." 

"  And — and  your  other  sister?  " 

"  Oh,  all  right." 

"  I  suppose  they  are  still  at  Dewhurst?  " 

"Oh,  no;  the  governor  and  Molly  are  up  in 
town.  They  are  staying  at  the  Hotel  Cecil." 

"  I  will  call.  Did  you  say  your  younger  sister 
is  with  them?  " 

"  Oh,  no;  she's  in  Switzerland,  at  Caux,  with  her 
aunt." 

"  At  Caux !  "  I  echoed.     "  For  long?  " 

"  I  believe  she  is  going  to  stay  the  winter." 
His  manner  was  so  stiff  and  embarrassed  that  I 
could  not  help  realizing  he  was  longing  to  be  rid 
of  me.  So  I  held  out  my  hand. 

"  Well,  good-by,"  I  said.  "  Very  glad  to  have 
met  you." 

[266] 


ENTRAPPED 

He  put  a  nerveless  hand  into  mine,  his  eyes 
anywhere  save  on  my  face.  His  expression  of 
misery  and  pain  recalled  in  some  inscrutable  way 
Milly  as  I  had  last  seen  her.  Moved  by  a  sudden 
impulse,  I  put  my  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  Are  you  in  trouble,  Gilbert?  "  I  asked.  "  Can 
I  help  you?" 

He  gave  me  a  quick  glance,  swallowing  some- 
thing in  his  throat. 

"  There's  nothing  wrong  with  me,"  he  replied 
sullenly,  "  except  that  I've  been  going  it  a  bit  lately 
and  have  a  beast  of  a  headache." 

"  I  hope  that  your  father,"  I  said,  with  sudden 
alarm,  "  isn't  still  harping  on  that  stupid  affair?  " 

He  looked  at  me  vacantly.  "What  affair?" 
he  asked.  "Oh,  about  Trefusis?  Oh,  no;  he's 
forgotten  all  about  that." 

I  did  not  press  him  further.  It  occurred  to  me 
that  probably  he  was  playing  his  part  in  one  of 
these  sordid  dramas  in  which  young  men  so  often 
gain  their  first  experiences  of  the  bitter  side  of 
life. 

"  Come  and  look  me  up  some  day,"  I  said. 

"  I'm  leaving  for  Cairo  to-morrow." 

"  The  deuce  you  are !  " 

"  And  damned  glad  to  get  away,  too,"  he  added 
bitterly.  "We  are  putting  up  a  bridge  for  the 
[267] 


THE    TRIFLER 

Government,  and  I  am  going  as  one  of  the  as- 
sistant engineers." 

"  Well,  I  wish  you  luck." 

"  Luck !  "  he  exclaimed  derisively.  "  I  don't 
know  what  the  word  means." 

On  Thursday  morning — the  day  of  Trefusis' 
supper  party — I  was  very  much  vexed  to  find  in 
the  Morning  Post  a  formal  announcement  of  my 
engagement  to  "  Miss  Mary  Telby,  eldest  daugh- 
ter of  John  Telby,  M.  P.,  of  Dewhurst,  Trewint." 
Who  could  have  inserted  it?  The  Post's  an- 
nouncements are  almost  invariably  official  com- 
munications, and  I  realized  that  everyone  would 
accept  the  truth  of  the  paragraph  without  question. 
And  so  it  turned  out.  During  the  course  of  the 
morning  I  received  half  a  dozen  notes  of  con- 
gratulation, including  a  hurried  note  from  my 
brother  and  an  effusive  scrawl  from  Mabel. 

I  was  so  irritated  by  these  repeated  felicitations 
that  I  penned  an  angry  note  to  the  editor,  request- 
ing an  immediate  contradiction.  This  I  intended 
to  dispatch  at  once,  in  order  that  the  contradiction 
might  appear  in  the  next  issue  of  the  paper,  but  I 
omitted  to  post  the  letter,  which  I  discovered  still 
in  my  pocket  when  I  was  starting  for  Trefusis' 
chambers.  That  there  might  be  no  further  delay 
I  placed  the  letter  in  the  first  pillar-box  I  came  to. 
[268] 


ENTRAPPED 

It  was  just  midnight  when  I  pressed  Trefusis' 
bell.  My  mind  went  back  to  the  last  occasion  on 
which  I  had  stood  at  his  door.  I  had  not  thought 
then  that  the  next  time  I  should  seek  admission  it 
would  be  as  one  of  his  friends — his  real  friends,  as 
he  phrased  it — gathered  to  bid  him  an  eternal  fare- 
well. The  whole  position  seemed  strained  and 
unnatural,  and  it  was  with  a  feeling  of  no  little  em- 
barrassment that  I  crossed  the  threshold. 

Trefusis  welcomed  me  warmly,  and  I  was  re- 
ceived with  cheerful  acclamations  by  his  other 
guests,  who  were  already  seated  round  the  supper 
table. 

"  Pray  forgive  us  for  not  waiting,"  said  Tre- 
fusis. "  We  got  back  earlier  than  we  expected, 
and  these  fellows  pretended  they  were  starving." 

I  made  some  reply  and  sat  down  in  the  only 
vacant  chair.  There  were  about  a  dozen  men 
present,  most  of  whom  I  knew  more  or  less  inti- 
mately; a  few  I  knew  by  sight,  and  amongst  these 
was  Beaumont,  the  actor.  He  was  a  man  whom 
many  people  absolutely  declined  to  know.  Con- 
sidering the  melancholy  occasion,  the  party  cer- 
tainly seemed  a  very  merry  one.  They  had 
evidently  made  the  most  of  their  visit  to  the 
"  Empire,"  for  several  could  not,  by  any  extension 
of  the  term,  be  called  sober,  and  all  the  rest,  with 
[269.] 


THE    TRIFLER 

the  exception  of  Trefusis  himself,  had  evidently 
had  as  much  to  drink  as  was  good  for  them. 

The  supper  was  a  lavish  one,  but  the  majority 
seemed  in  no  mood  for  eating.  Champagne 
frothed  and  fizzed,  and  faces  were  unnaturally 
flushed ;  and  foolish,  pointless  stories  were  received 
with  roars  of  laughter.  I  do  not  desire  to  pose 
as  a  Puritan,  for  many  a  time  I  have  been  to  similar 
gatherings  and  enjoyed  them.  But  in  the  present 
case  I  was  out  of  touch  with  the  rest  of  the  party. 
I  entered,  cool  and  collected ;  they  were  flushed  and 
excited  by  an  evening's  revelry.  Naturally,  the 
witticisms  which  appealed  to  them  failed  to  amuse 
me.  I  felt  as  a  teetotaler  might  amongst  topers. 
Ordinary  good  manners  made  me  disguise  my  feel- 
ings, but  I  had  not  been  five  minutes  in  the  room 
before  I  was  racking  my  brain  for  an  excuse  to 
escape. 

The  room  where  we  supped  was  connected  by 
folding-doors  with  the  room  in  which  I  had  had 
my  previous  encounter  with  Trefusis.  I  was  glad 
the  folding-doors  were  closed,  for  it  would  have 
been  embarrassing  both  to  my  host  and  to  myself 
to  have  had  that  incident  too  vividly  brought  to  our 
recollection. 

I  noticed  that  Trefusis  did  not  drink  much,  but 
there  was  an  unwonted  color  on  his  face,  and  a  glit- 
[270] 


ENTRAPPED 

ter  in  his  dark  eyes,  which  showed  unusual  excite- 
ment. I  regarded  him  with  a  feeling  of  sympathy. 
There  is  always  something  pathetic  about  a  fare- 
well, and  in  the  present  case  were  we  not  bidding 
him  good-by  in  the  most  solemn  sense? 

Supper  at  an  end,  cigars  were  lit  and  liquids  in  a 
more  concentrated  form  circulated  anew.  Men 
rose  from  time  to  time  to  make  maudlin  speeches, 
which  commenced  in  incoherency  and  ended  in  con- 
fusion. Trefusis  responded  to  the  toasts  of  which 
he  was  the  subject  with  a  due  gravity  and  a  certain 
aptness.  References  were  continually  made  by  the 
speakers  in  terms  intended  to  be  touching  to  the 
melancholy  occasion  of  the  banquet,  and  a  drunken 
sentimentality  reigned  for  a  few  minutes,  to  be 
dissipated  by  a  loud  burst  of  hilarity  over  some  not 
very  seemly  jest. 

I  suppose  it  was  about  one  o'clock  when  Beau- 
mont annoyed  me  exceedingly  by  getting  on  his 
feet  and  proposing  my  health.  I  have  said  I  did 
not  know  Beaumont,  and  I  did  not  wish  to  know 
him.  It  was,  it  seemed  to  me,  a  piece  of  intoler- 
able impertinence  that  he  should  propose  my  health 
at  all ;  but  when  he  began  to  allude  to  my  reported 
engagement  to  Molly,  I  felt  my  wrath  rising.  It 
put  me  in  a  false  position.  How  could  I  explain 
to  this  drunken  crew  that  there  was  no  engage- 


THE    TRIFLER 

ment?  It  was  distasteful  to  hear  her  name — the 
name  of  Milly's  sister — mentioned  by  such  a  man 
and  in  such  company. 

"  We  congratulate  him,"  continued  Beaumont, 
swaying  on  his  feet,  "  for  he  is  going  to  marry 
the  beautiful  Molly.  We  should  all  like  to 
marry  her,  but  as  we  can't  do  so  in  this  overciv- 
ilized  country,  why,  let's  drink  the  happy  man's 
health." 

I  looked  at  Trefusis,  mutely  protesting,  but  he 
only  shrugged  his  shoulders,  deprecatingly,  as  if 
to  say  that  he  was  sorry,  but  could  do  nothing. 
There  was  a  chorus  of  cheers.  Some  of  the  men 
present  were  friends  of  mine,  and  gentlemen;  but 
the  keen  edge  of  good  taste  soon  gets  blunted  by  an 
unrestrained  conviviality.  When  Beaumont  sat 
down  I  hesitated  what  to  do — whether  to  say  what 
I  felt  or  to  let  the  matter  drop.  Just  then,  how- 
ever, a  servant  entered  the  room  and  handed  Tre- 
fusis a  card.  "  A  lady  to  see  you,  sir,"  he  said,  in 
an  audible  whisper. 

Of  course  there  was  a  loud  outcry.  Trefusis 
glanced  at  the  card,  and  then  looked  towards  me 
with  an  evil  gleam  in  his  eyes. 

"  I  cannot  see  her,"  he  said.  "  Tell  her  to  go 
away,  or — or  to  come  later." 

There  was  a  shout  of  protest,  "  We'll  clear  out 
[272] 


ENTRAPPED 

if  you  like,"  said  Beaumont.  "  Don't  like  to 
interrupt  any  little  private  meeting  with  a 
lady." 

Trefusis  frowned  and  shook  his  head.  "  Where 
is  she?" 

The  servant  indicated  the  adjoining  room. 

"  I  can't  see  her.  Excuse  this  interruption, 
gentlemen,  but  this — person  has  no  right  to  annoy 
me.  I  have  done  with  women  of  this  kind.  She 
presumes  on  what  is  past." 

"  Oh,  the  naughty  lady !  "  shrieked  Beaumont. 
And  the  men  laughed  and  shouted  uproariously. 

"  Say  I  am  engaged,"  said  Trefusis  to  the  ser- 
vant. "  Tell  her  to  go  away." 

"  Wait  a  minute !  "  cried  Beaumont.  "  Why 
shouldn't  we  have  her  in  ?  It's  a  damned  shame  to 
send  away  an  old  sweetheart  when  she  comes  to 
say  good-by."  The  men  hailed  the  suggestion 
with  rapturous  applause. 

"  No,  no,"  expostulated  Trefusis.  "  I  won't 
have  it!" 

"  Hang  it  all,  why  not?  "  cried  Beaumont.  "  I 
want  to  see  the  dear  creature.  You  have  such 
good  taste,  Trefusis.  Let's  have  her  in !  " 

"  Let's  have  her  in !  "  echoed  some  of  the  others. 
They  shouted  and  hammered  on  the  table ;  the  din 
was  indescribable.  Then  Beaumont,  who  was 

[273] 


THE    TRIFLER 

sitting  with  his  back  to  the  folding-doors,  sprang 
up  and  laid  his  hand  on  the  knob. 

"  No,  no,  you  must  not!  "  cried  Trefusis.  He 
half  rose  to  his  feet,  but  his  eyes  were  still  on  mine, 
and  there  was  a  fiendish  malignancy  in  his  look. 

Beaumont  disregarded  him  and  flung  open  the 
folding-doors.  In  the  center  of  the  inner  room, 
staring  at  us  with  terrified  eyes,  stood  Molly  1 

For  some  moments  there  was  no  movement.  It 
was  as  if  everyone  in  the  room  had  been  turned  into 
stone.  Then  Trefusis  sprang  to  the  doors  and 
closed  them. 

I  rose  from  my  seat  and  came  from  my  place 
like  a  man  in  a  dream.  I  do  not  think  I  hurried. 
I  came  to  Trefusis'  side,  as  he  stood  holding  the 
handle  of  the  doors. 

"  Let  me  pass,"  I  said. 

"  I  wished  to  spare  you  this,"  he  returned. 

"  Let  me  pass." 

"  No,  you  cannot  pass." 

For  a  moment  we  stood  still,  looking  into  each 
other's  eyes;  and,  in  that  moment,  I  realized  the 
depth  of  malice  and  vindictiveness  in  the  man's 
heart.  I  took  him  by  the  throat  and  flung  him 
violently  aside.  He  fell  on  the  table;  there  was 
a  crash  of  glass.  Then  I  opened  the  doors,  but  the 
room  was  empty. 

[274] 


'Staring  at  us  zvith  terrified  eyes,  stood  Molly!" 


ENTRAPPED 

I  looked  back.  Beaumont  was  assisting  Tre- 
fusis  to  his  feet.  His  hands  were  pressed  to  his 
face,  but  I  saw  blood  creeping  through  his  fingers, 
and  I  noticed  a  drop  fell  on  his  shirt-front. 

I  went  out  of  the  place  and  down  the  stairs. 


[2753 


CHAPTER  XX 

POOR   MOLLY 

WHAT  was  Molly  doing  in  Trefusis' 
rooms  more  than  an  hour  after  mid- 
night? The  interpretation  which  Tre- 
fusis had  more  than  hinted  at  I  rejected  without  a 
moment's  consideration.  He  had  planned,  with 
his  creature,  Beaumont,  the  little  drama  which  had 
been  carried  through  with  complete  success  from 
his  point  of  view.  On  this  point  I  had  no  doubt. 
Everything,  in  fact,  was  veiy  clear  to  me,  except 
Molly's  presence.  How  had  he  secured  that?  I 
paced  the  floor  of  my  room  till  dawn  dimmed  the 
electric  light,  trying  in  vain  to  find  an  answer. 

With  all  his  cleverness  he  had  missed  his  mark. 
He  had  intended  to  injure  me  through  the  woman 
I  loved;  but  I  did  not  love  Molly.  It  was  my 
duty,  of  course,  to  see  she  was  put  right  in  the  eyes 
of  the  world,  for  she  had  borne  my  burden.  But, 
still,  Molly  was  not  Milly.  Supposing — I  felt 
the  sweat  on  my  brow — supposing  he  had  not 
blundered  and  Milly  had  faced  that  drunken  crew  I 
[277] 


THE    TRIFLER 

Supposing  his  shameful  artifice  had  left  these 
shameful  thoughts  in  the  minds  of  these  men  of 
Milly — Milly  whom  I  loved?  Thank  God,  she 
had  been  spared  that!  I  stopped  dead,  and  my 
breath  came  heavily.  Yes,  he  would  have  had 
his  revenge,  but,  by  Heaven!  he  should  have 
suffered. 

I  could  not  think  of  the  danger  Milly  had 
escaped  without  a  sickening  sense  of  horror.  I 
found  myself  muttering  "  Thank  God,  it  was  only 
Molly !  "  and  I  was  ashamed  of  myself.  How 
selfish  I  was!  Surely  my  solicitude  for  poor 
Molly's  honor  should  be  as  intense  as  for  that  of 
her  sister.  But  it  was  not.  If  it  had  been  Milly ! 
I  bowed  my  head  in  my  hands  and  shuddered.  As 
it  was  only  Molly,  I  resumed  my  self-possession 
and  decided  very  clearly  that  my  course  of  action 
was,  first  of  all,  to  discover  for  what  reason  or  by 
what  lie  he  had  induced  her  to  go  to  his  rooms  at 
such  an  hour,  and  then  to  make  him  avow,  in  the 
most  public  way,  his  share  in  the  dastardly  trick. 

I  went  to  bed  at  length,  and  slept  soundly  till 
late  the  next  morning.  I  abused  Tarling  for  not 
calling  me  at  my  usual  time,  had  my  bath,  dressed 
and  breakfasted,  proud  that  my  brain  was  calm  and 
clear,  and  looking  forward  almost  eagerly  to  my 
crusade  on  Molly's  behalf. 
[278] 


POOR    MOLLY 

I  went  straight  to  the  Hotel  Cecil,  and  ascer- 
tained that  Molly  was  in.  I  sent  up  my  name,  and, 
after  an  interval,  her  maid  came  to  say  her  mistress 
was  not  feeling  well  enough  to  see  me. 

"Is  Miss  Telby  out  of  bed?"  I  asked  ab- 
ruptly. 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir." 

"  Then  tell  her  I  must  see  her." 

The  maid  departed  on  her  errand,  and  I  waited 
irritably  for  the  answer.  When  the  woman  re- 
turned, it  was  to  repeat  that  her  mistress  could  not 
see  me. 

I  was  annoyed.  Here  was  I  burning  to  put  an 
end  to  the  horrible  slanders  which  I  guessed  only 
too  well  were  even  at  that  moment  circulating  from 
lip  to  lip ;  and  the  foolish  girl  was  throwing  a  pre- 
liminary obstacle  in  my  way. 

"  Tell  Miss  Telby  I  must  and  will  see  her,"  I 
said  sternly.  "  And  if  she  won't  come  down  to 
me,  I  shall  insist  on  going  up  to  her." 

The  maid  retired  in  a  flutter,  but  came  back 
shortly  and  asked  me  to  follow  her.  I  was  shown 
into  the  Telbys'  sitting  room,  and  after  a  time 
Molly  came  in. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  seem  peremptory,  Molly,"  I 
began,  "  but  it  is  essential  that  I  should  speak  to 
you." 

[279] 


THE    TRIFLE  R 

"  It  is  not  very  kind,"  she  answered,  a  distinct 
frown  contracting  her  usually  placid  brow. 

"  Yes;  it  is  kind.     Please  sit  down." 

She  sat  down  with  an  obvious  ill  humor  that 
brought  her  father  to  mind.  "  I  did  not  sleep 
well  last  night,"  she  said  resentfully,  "  and  I  was 
having  a  nap  when  you  called  and  disturbed  me." 

"  You  were  up  late  last  night?  " 

She  gave  me  a  quick  glance.     "  Not  very." 

"  It  depends,  of  course,  on  what  you  call  late." 

"  I  went  to  bed  at  eleven." 

I  was  taken  aback.  Did  the  silly  girl  mean  to 
deny  her  unhappy  escapade  ? 

"  Molly,"  I  said  bluntly,  "  what  were  you  doing 
in  Trefusis'  room  at  one  o'clock  this  morning?  " 

The  color  faded  slightly  from  her  cheek. 
"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  cried.  "  And  how  do 
you  know?  " 

"  I  was  there." 

"You  were  there?" 

"  Yes." 

She  looked  at  me  with  her  great  eyes.  "  Do 
you  intend  to  tell  father?  " 

"  Good  heavens !  no." 

She  sighed  gently.  "  I  am  glad  you  don't  think 
it  your  duty  to  tell  father.  People  always  seem  to 
think  it  their  duty  to  repeat  disagreeable  things. 
[280] 


POOR    MOLLY 

There  were  a  lot  of  people  in  that  room,  but  I 
couldn't  recognize  any  faces.  Do  you  think  any- 
one recognized  me?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  responded  grimly. 

"Will — will  they  think  it  their  duty  to  tell 
father?  "  she  asked  anxiously. 

"  Very  possibly." 

She  sighed  again.  "  I  am  afraid  he  will  be 
cross." 

"  What  were  you  doing  there?  "  I  asked,  after 
a  moment's  interval. 

"  I — I  went  to  see  Mr.  Trefusis." 

"Why?" 

She  looked  at  me  gravely,  and  shook  her  head. 

"  You  must  tell  me,"  I  insisted. 

**  I  cannot.  Please  don't  press  me,  because  I 
can't  tell  you." 

I  rose.  "  Now  look  here,  Molly,  don't  let  us 
have  any  nonsense.  A  great  many  people  saw 
you  there  last  night,  and  it  is  sure  to  get  about. 
And — and  people  will  misunderstand.  The  only 
thing  to  be  done  is  to  explain  why  you  went 
there." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  I  must  tell  everyone  the 
real  reason  why  I  went  there?"  she  asked,  with 
dilated  eyes. 

"Yes.     What  was  it?" 
[281] 


THE    TRIFLER 

"  I  can't  tell  you." 

"  You  must  tell  me." 

"  I  don't  think  it  is  very  kind  of  you  to  press  me 
when  I  say  that  I  can't  tell  you." 

I  was  baffled.     "  But  will  you  tell  Milly  ?  " 

"  I  shall  tell  no  one,"  she  answered,  with  de- 
cision. 

I  sat  down  again.  "  My  dear  Molly,  you  don't 
understand  how  serious  the  matter  is.  Trefusis  is 
a  blackguard.  Do  you  know  what  he  pretends?  " 

She  shook  her  head  wearily. 

"That  you  went  to  his  rooms  because — you 
were  fond  of  him." 

I  watched  the  blood  surging  over  her  face. 

"  He  says  that?  "  she  asked. 

I  nodded. 

"  He — he  says  I  went  to  see  him,  because  I  was 
—fond  of  him?" 

Again  I  nodded. 

"Oh  I" 

I  waited  for  some  further  reply,  but  none  came. 

"  Why  did  you  go,  Molly?  "  I  asked  softly. 

She  sat  still,  looking  almost  vacantly  in  front  of 
her.     The  color  had  died  away  as  suddenly  as  it 
came.     "Why  does  he  say  that?"  she  asked  at 
length.     "  I  hardly  know  him.     I  cannot  under 
stand  why  he  says  that." 

[282] 


POOR    MOLLY 

"  Because  he  has  a  grudge  against  me,  and  he 
thinks  it  will  hurt  me.  He  believes  we  are  engaged 
to  be  married." 

She  did  not  speak  for  some  time,  but  sat  gazing 
into  immeasurable  distances. 

"  I  see,"  she  said  at  length.  "  And  people  will 
believe  him?  " 

"  Possibly." 

"  They  will  think  I  am  not — not  a  good 
woman?  " 

"  Some  might  think  that  if  we  don't  explain  your 
true  reason." 

She  was  silent  for  so  long  that  I  grew  impatient. 
And  then  she  smiled — so  sweet,  so  transcendental 
was  her  face  that  I  recalled  involuntarily  the  Sistine 
Madonna. 

"  And  yet  I  cannot  tell,"  she  murmured.  "  I 
understand  what  you  have  said,  and  yet  I  cannot 
tell."  She  rose.  "  Thank  you  for  calling.  I 
am  sorry  I  was  cross  at  first.  I  see  now  why  you 
came.  Thank  you." 

She  moved  towards  the  door,  but  came  back. 

"  This  won't  make  any  difference  between  you 
and  Milly,  will  it?"  she  asked  wistfully. 

"  No,  no,"  I  said  hotly.     "  But,  Molly " 

She  shook  her  head.     "  Don't  press  me  any 
more,    Fred,    dear.      I    understand    everything, 
[283] 


THE    TRIFLER 

though  I  am  often  so  stupid  at  understanding 
things.     But  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  tell." 

She  went  out  of  the  room,  closing  the  door 
softly. 

I  had  congratulated  myself  that  morning  on  my 
cool,  clear  brain.  My  pride  was  gone  now. 
Frankly,  I  was  in  a  state  of  the  utmost  mental  con- 
fusion. I  picked  up  my  hat  and  made  my  way  into 
the  street.  What  was  to  be  done?  The  only 
suggestion  that  rose  from  the  depths  of  my 
clouded  imaginings  was  to  hunt  out  Trefusis  and 
wring  his  neck. 

I  directed  my  steps  towards  my  club,  and  in  Pall 
Mall  I  ran  across  young  Fletcher,  who  had  been 
a  guest  of  Trefusis'  the  previous  night.  He 
nodded  in  an  awkward  and  shamefaced  way, 
and  would  have  passed  on  if  I  had  not  stopped 
him. 

"  Tell  me,"  I  said,  "  what  happened  last  night 
after  I  left?" 

He  fidgeted,  first  on  one  foot  and  then  on  the 
other. 

"  Oh,  well,"  he  replied,  "  we  had  to  take  Tre- 
fusis to  a  hospital " 

"A  hospital  I     Why?" 

"  His  face  got  badly  cut  on  some  broken  glass 
when  you — when  he  fell  on  the  table." 
[284] 


POOR    MOLLY 

"  Is  he  there  now?  " 

"  Yes ;  the  doctor  said  he  couldn't  possibly  sail 
to-day.  You  see,  some  vein  or  other  had  got  cut, 
and  he  bled  a  good  deal  before  we  could  get  him 
seen  to." 

"  He  really  did  intend  to  sail  to-day?  " 

"  Oh,  rather;  he  worried  like  anything  when  he 
found  he  couldn't  go." 

"  Curse  him,"  I  said  curtly,  and  turned  to  go. 
Fletcher  touched  my  arm. 

"  I  say,"  he  said  nervously,  "  we  were  black- 
guards last  night.  I  am  ashamed — I  really  don't 
know  what  to  say." 

"  Were  you  in  the  plot?  "  I  cried  fiercely. 

His  obvious  astonishment  disarmed  me.  "  What 
plot?" 

"  That  lady  was  brought  there  by  a  despicable 
trick  of  that  blackguard,  Trefusis.  It  was  all  a 
put-up  job  by  Trefusis  and  Beaumont  to  injure 
me." 

There  was  an  expression  of  incredulity  on  his 
face,  which  he  tried  in  vain  to  disguise.  "  I  am 
so  glad  to  hear  that,"  he  answered  after  a  moment's 
pause.  "  Of  course,  I  guessed  it  at  once.  Oh, 
yes,  of  course,  that  explains  everything." 

I  turned  away,  sick  at  heart.  That  is  what  my 
friends  would  say  to  my  face,  and  even  behind  my 
[285] 


THE    TRIFLER 

back,  if  they  thought  it  would  serve  me.  But 
they  would  not  believe  it. 

I  passed  a  restless  night,  and  rose  the  next  morn- 
ing sick  at  heart.  At  breakfast  I  opened  the 
Morning  Post,  and  the  first  thing  that  met  my  eyes 
was  a  contradiction  of  the  report  of  my  engage- 
ment to  Molly.  I  had  entirely  forgotten  sending 
it  to  the  paper,  and  I  realized  at  once  that  I  had 
unwittingly  dealt  Molly  another  damaging  blow. 
Everybody  would  say  I  had  broken  off  the  engage- 
ment. The  notification,  coming  at  that  moment, 
would  be  regarded,  by  an  ever-growing  circle,  as 
absolute  evidence  of  Molly's  guilt. 

I  spent  some  days  in  a  state  of  indecision,  and  the 
need  to  consult  someone  pressed  on  me  more 
strongly  as  the  days  went  by.  But  whom?  There 
was  my  brother.  His  platitudes  would  drive  me 
mad.  There  was  Mabel.  What  sensible  sugges- 
tion could  I  expect  from  her?  I  wanted  someone 
with  a  clear  head  and  a  sympathetic  heart,  who 
would  accept,  without  proof,  the  fact  of  Molly's 
innocence.  There  was  only  one  person  in  the 
world  who  could  help  me;  but  she  was  at  Caux. 
Still,  there  were  steamers  and  trains. 

I  rang  the  bell.     "  Tarling,  pack  my  bag." 


[286] 


CHAPTER  XXI 

MOLLY    WRITES 

I  REACHED  Territet  after  an  uneventful 
journey,  and  took  my  place  in  the  crawling 
funiculaire  that  climbs  through  vineyards  the 
mountain  side  to  Glion ;  changing  there  for  the  cog- 
railway  that  helps  the  lazy  traveler  on  to  Caux. 
As  we  zigzagged  up  through  the  mountains,  my 
heart  beat  at  the  thought  of  so  soon  seeing  Milly. 
I  pictured  to  myself  the  little  start  she  would  give. 
Perhaps  she  would  turn  red,  perhaps  pale.  At  any 
rate,  red  or  pale,  she  would  receive  me  with  some 
embarrassment,  some  touch  of  constraint.  I  felt 
that  I  should  have  to  carry  off  the  awkwardness  of 
our  meeting  by  the  ease  of  my  manner.  Perhaps 
a  little  hauteur  would  not  misbecome  me.  I  was 
here  to  help  her  sister,  rather  than  to  see  her.  It 
was  not  the  persistence  of  a  rejected  lover  that 
had  brought  me  from  London — that  I  must 
explain,  in  a  few  well-chosen  words,  at  the  outset — 
but  a  disinterested  desire  to  aid  her  unhappy  sister, 
who,  to  use  a  vulgar  expression,  had  "  got  herself 
into  a  hole."  When  she  understood  why  I  had 
[287] 


THE    TRIFLER 

come,  I  could  imagine  her  pleading  eyes  looking  up 
into  mine ;  she  would  hang  on  every  word  I  uttered, 

depending  on  me  so  completely  for  advice 

But  the  train  was  nearing  Caux. 

Our  meeting  was  not  long  delayed.  As  the 
train  drew  near  the  station,  the  first  person  I  set 
eyes  on  was  Milly.  She  was  dressed  in  white 
(though  the  detail  is  not  relevant),  and  she  was 
leaning  on  the  balcony  of  the  platform,  looking 
vaguely  at  the  train  crawling  in  her  direction.  She 
did  not  notice  me  till  I  had  alighted  and  stood  by 
her  side. 

"Why,  Fred,  wherever  did  you  drop  from?" 
was  her  greeting.  So  far  as  my  observation  went, 
she  turned  neither  red  nor  pale. 

"  I  have  dropped  straight  from  London,"  I 
answered. 

"  It's  very  jolly,  anyhow."  She  looked  at  me 
with  her  bright,  frank  smile.  "  How  pale  you  are 
looking!  I'm  afraid  you've  been  working  too 
hard." 

"  Oh,  no." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  have,"  she  persisted.  "  It's 
always  the  way  with  foolish  people.  They  will 
rush  to  extremes.  However,  it's  sensible  of  you 
to  take  a  holiday.  And  how  nice  of  you  to  come 
here.  Are  you  alone?  " 

[288] 


MOLLY    WRITES 

"  Quite  alone." 

"  Oh."     Her  eyes  dropped. 

We  moved  on  towards  the  hotel.  "  What  luck 
to  meet  you  like  this !  "  I  said. 

"  They  bring  up  the  English  mail  about  this 
time,  and  that  always  fascinates  me.  Look,  there 
it  goes."  She  pointed  to  a  man  with  a  bag  over 
his  shoulder.  "  You  can  have  no  idea  how  I  long 
for  news  here.  It's  a  shame  to  say  it  when  the 
scenery  is  so  beautiful,  but  for  all  that  I  am  dread- 
fully bored.  And  so  I  go  to  meet  the  mail  every 
day." 

"Are  you  intending  to  stay  here  long?"  I 
asked. 

"  I  don't  know.  It  depends  on  aunt.  Are 
you?" 

"  That  depends  on  you." 

Her  color  deepened.  "  Oh,  bother ! "  she 
observed. 

"  No ;  I  don't  mean  that  at  all,"  I  said  in  a 
great  hurry.  "  Not  in  that  sense." 

"What  sense?" 

"Oh,  well;  you  know  I" 

Her  eyes  met  mine,  and  she  laughed  very 
naturally.  I  laughed  too,  but  ruefully. 

"  You  mean,"  she  said,  "  you  don't  intend  to  be 
a  nuisance?  " 

[289] 


THE    TRIFLER 

"  No;  certainly  not."  Hang  it,  why  had  I  not 
worked  in  those  well-chosen  words?  "The  fact 
is,  I  came  over  to  get  your  advice  about  something 
very  important,  and  my  movements  will  depend  on 
what  you  think  had  best  be  done." 

She  was  gratified.  "  You  want  my  advice  as  to 
something  important  in  your  career  ?  How  splen- 
did that  you  should  have  a  career !  " 

"  Well,  it's  not  quite  that.  It — it  concerns 
Molly." 

She  glanced  up  quickly.     "And  Mr.  Vicars?" 

"  Bless  me,  no." 

Milly  seemed  disappointed.  "  I  thought  per- 
haps something  had  happened,  but  nothing  ever 
happens  nowadays." 

"  About  Vicars  and  Molly?  "  I  asked  curiously. 
"  What  do  you  want  to  happen?  " 

"What  do  I  want  to  happen?"  she  repeated. 
"  I  don't  think  you  need  ask  that!  I  want  Mr. 
Vicars  to  ring  at  our  front  door  and  say,  '  Molly, 
I've  come  to  marry  you.'  And  I  want  Molly  to 
answer,  *  Why,  certainly.' ' 

"And  won't  she?" 

"  Not  without  papa's  consent,  which  she  never, 
never  can  get.  By  the  way,  have  you  forgiven 
Mr.  Vicars?" 

"  .Why,  of  course  I  have.  That  man  Trefusis 
[290] 


MOLLY    WRITES 

was  at  the  bottom  of  all  those  lies.     I  hope  you've 
forgotten  all  that  nonsense?" 

She  raised  her  eyes  gravely.  "  Oh,  yes,  I've 
forgotten  all  that  nonsense." 

A  pause  ensued  that  lasted  till  we  reached  the 
grounds  of  the  hotel.  "  But  why  are  you  so  eager 
that  Molly  should  marry  Mr.  Vicars  ?  "  I  asked  at 
length. 

"  Because  they  love  each  other." 

"  Is  that  a  sufficient  reason  in  all  cases?  " 

She  disregarded  my  question.  "  Poor  Molly," 
she  went  on,  a  trifle  hurriedly,  "  has  such  a  hard 
time  of  it,  simply  because  she  is  a  martyr  to  that 
horrid  mental  disease,  *  duty  to  one's  parent.'  She 
will  miss  happiness  in  this  world  simply  because  she 
won't  say,  '  Blow  papa ! ' 

"  It  wouldn't  be  ladylike,"  I  said  reprovingly, 
but  Milly  did  not  heed  me. 

"  Of  course,  Mr.  Vicars  isn't  a  hero,  but  she 
loves  him.  I  know  Molly's  nature  so  well.  She 
will  never  love  anyone  else  all  her  life." 

"  I  hope  Molly  will  find  happiness  somehow  or 
other,"  I  said  rather  sadly. 

We  had  reached  the  hotel  entrance.  A  porter 
came  up  and  handed  Milly  a  letter. 

"  It's  from  Molly !  "  she  exclaimed,  and  began 
to  open  it. 

[291] 


THE    TRIFLER 

"  Don't  open  it  here,"  I  interposed  hastily. 
;<  There  are  so  many  people  about.  Let  us  go 
where  we  can  be  alone." 

Something  in  my  tone  struck  her.  "  There  is 
something  serious  the  matter?  "  she  asked  quickly. 

"  Yes." 

Without  another  word  she  put  the  letter  in  her 
pocket,  and  we  left  the  grounds  of  the  hotel.  She 
led  the  way  to  a  path  that  struck  across  the  moun- 
tain side.  We  came  to  a  retired  seat,  from  which 
we  could  see  the  Lake  of  Geneva,  stretched  out  far 
below. 

I  watched  her  face  as  she  turned  over  sheet  after 
sheet  covered  with  Molly's  big,  scrawling  writ- 
ing. The  little  dent  between  her  eyebrows 
deepened. 

"  What  does  all  this  mean?"  she  asked,  with  a 
sudden  glance  towards  me,  as  she  turned  a  page. 
I  made  no  answer,  for  I  felt  she  had  better  get  hold 
of  Molly's  version.  Page  after  page  she  turned, 
and  once  she  smiled,  and  my  heart  lightened. 
Suddenly,  as  she  neared  the  end,  she  gave  a  startled 
exclamation,  and  a  great  wave  of  color  flooded  her 
face. 

"  He — struck  her !  "  she  cried,  with  a  half  sob. 
"He  struck  her!  Oh,  Molly;  my  beautiful 
Molly!" 

[  292  J 


MOLLY    WRITES 

"Who  struck  her?"  I  exclaimed,  jumping  off 
my  seat. 

"  Father,"  she  murmured.  She  finished  the 
letter  with  burning  cheeks  and  compressed  lips. 
And  then  she  rose,  and  turning  away,  dried  her 
eyes  with  her  handkerchief. 

We  did  not  speak  for  some  minutes. 

"Does  she  explain  why  she  went  there?"  I 
asked  at  length. 

Milly  shook  her  head.  She  gathered  up  the 
sheets  of  note-paper  that  lay  scattered  about  the 
seat. 

"  Shall  I  read  this  to  you?  "  she  asked. 

4 '  If  you  think  it  best." 

She  began  to  read  the  letter,  but  could  not  con- 
trol her  voice.  "  Read  it  yourself,"  she  said,  and 
handed  it  to  me. 

"  My  dear  Milly,"  I  read,  "  Oh,  how  I  wish 
you  were  with  me,  for  I  don't  know  what  to  do  or 
where  to  turn  for  help.  I  cannot  live  with  father 
any  longer.  But  where  to  go,  I  do  not  know.  I 
have  decided  to  go  somewhere,  but  where,  I  do  not 
know.  If  you  were  at  home,  you  would  know  at 
once,  but  it  is  so  difficult  for  me  to  settle  things. 
But,  in  any  case,  I  shall  leave  father. 

"  It  has  just  occurred  to  me  that  I  will  settle 
[293] 


THE    TRIFLER 

where  to  go  by  putting  a  hairpin  in  an  '  A.B.C.' 
You  remember  old  Mrs.  Tarling  at  Trewint  settles 
things  by  putting  a  latchkey  in  her  Bible,  and  the 
text  it  points  to  is  her  guide — though  she  told  me 
once  it  didn't  always  work.  I  think  an  *  A.B.C.' 
in  my  case  will  be  better  than  a  Bible,  because  it 
must  settle  something,  and,  I  dare  say,  a  hairpin 
will  do  just  as  well  as  a  latchkey. 

"  I  have  done  it !  I  am  going  to  a  place  called 
Sanquhar  in  Dumfriesshire,  in  Scotland.  There  is 
a  hotel  advertised  called  the  '  Queensberry  Arms,' 
and  I  shall  stop  there.  As  soon  as  my  box  is 
packed  I  shall  drive  straight  to  the  station,  and  I 
shall  be  in  Sanquhar  to-morrow.  Father  will 
never  guess,  nor  will  anyone.  I  tell  you,  because 
I  want  you  to  come  straight  to  me  and  tell  me  what 
to  do. 

"  Oh,  Milly,  things  have  been  terrible !  Late 
one  night,  it  was  past  midnight,  I  went  and  called 
on  Mr.  Trefusis.  This  will  shock  you,  but  I  had 
to  go.  I  wish  I  could  tell  you  why,  but  I  have 
solemnly  promised  not  to  tell  anyone.  Oh,  how 
I  wish  I  could  tell  you. 

"  I  was  shown  into  a  room  by  a  man-servant, 
and  I  could  hear  the  voices  of  men  in  the  next 
room,  laughing  and  talking.  Suddenly  the  fold- 
ing doors  were  flung  open  and  a  whole  heap  of 
[294] 


MOLLY    WRITES 

men's  faces  were  staring  at  me.  I  was  very  much 
astonished  and  frightened.  Then  Mr.  Trefusis 
shut  the  doors  quickly,  and  I  hurried  away,  and  got 
into  my  cab,  and  drove  back  to  the  hotel. 

"  The  next  day  Fred  called  on  me.  I  am  afraid 
I  fibbed  at  first.  But  he  said  he  was  one  of  the 
men,  and  so  it  was  no  use.  He  said  I  must  tell 
him  why  I  went  to  Mr.  Trefusis,  and  explained 
why.  Oh,  Milly,  it  is  terrible  for  me  to  have  to 
write  this.  He  said  people  would  think  I  was  a 
bad  woman  if  I  did  not  explain,  and  that  Mr. 
Trefusis  was  going  about  saying  I  was  a  bad 
woman,  and  that  was  why  I  had  gone  to  his  rooms. 
But,  oh,  Milly,  you  know  it  wasn't. 

"  I  asked  him  why  Mr.  Trefusis  said  such 
wicked  things,  and  Fred  explained  that  Mr.  Tre- 
fusis thought  we  were  engaged,  and  he  hated  Fred, 
and  so  was  trying  to  hurt  him  by  saying  I  was  bad. 
Fred  begged  me  to  explain  why  I  went  to  Mr. 
Trefusis'  rooms,  but,  Milly,  dear,  I  could  not.  I 
saw  Fred  was  very  much  moved,  for  he  was  pale 
and  his  lips  trembled,  and  he  hadn't  that  lazy, 
laughing,  indifferent  manner  which  you  used  to 
hate  in  him. 

"  The  next  day  father  and  I  went  into  the  Park. 
You  know  how  father  loves  to  go  into  the  Park 
and  bow  to  people.  We  met  Lady  Maud  Ponti- 

[295] 


THE    TRIFLER 

cherry,  and  she  took  no  notice  of  father's  bow,  and 
stared  at  me  in  the  rudest  way.  We  also  met  Sir 
Gerald  and  Lady  Trewint,  and  they  pretended  not 
to  see  us,  and  then  the  Duchess  of  Hillstown,  whom 
father  was  so  pleased  to  know,  stared  right  at  us 
and  never  bowed  in  the  least. 

"  Oh,  Milly,  I  began  to  understand  it  was 
because  they  all  thought  me  a  bad  woman  I 

"  I  did  not  say  anything  to  father,  who  was  in 
a  terrible  temper.  He  could  not  understand  it. 
And,  oh,  I  was  so  afraid  he  would  find  out. 

"  The  next  day  we  went  to  an  '  At  Home '  at 
Mrs.  Clive's.  I  did  not  want  to  go,  but  father 
insisted.  It  was  terrible.  Mrs.  Clive  shook 
hands  so  very  coldly,  and  not  a  single  woman  spoke 
to  me.  But  father  was  in  a  better  temper,  because 
the  men  spoke  to  him. 

"  The  next  day  he  found  out.  Oh,  Milly,  he 
came  to  me  and  asked  if  it  was  true,  and  I  said  it 
was.  Then  he  asked  why  I  went,  and  I  could  not 
tell  him.  I  could  not,  dear,  because  I  had  solemnly 
promised  to  tell  no  one.  Oh,  you  believe  me, 
don't  you?  He  was  so  angry — he  struck  me. 
Oh,  Milly,  Milly,  if  you  were  only  here,  I  could 
bear  it  so  much  better. 

"  But  I  cannot  stay  here  any  longer.  I  am 
going  away  to-night  to  Sanquhar.  You  will  come 
[296] 


MOLLY    WRITES 

there,  won't  you  ?  I  have  plenty  of  money.  Oh, 
Milly,  it  is  terrible  to  be  thought  a  bad  woman  1 
But  even  if  I  were  bad,  other  women  should  not  be 
so  cruel.  That  would  not  be  the  way  to  make  me 
good  again. 

"You  will  come  soon,  dear  Milly?  Oh,  do 
come  soon  ! — Your  loving  sister,  Molly." 

I  finished  the  letter,  and  laid  it  down. 

"When  can  we  leave? "  asked  Milly, in  a  con- 
strained voice. 

"  Not  before  to-morrow." 

"At  what  hour?" 

"  Ten." 

"  I  shall  be  ready." 

"  You  will  speak  to  your  aunt  to-night?  " 

'  Yes,  of  course." 

We  moved  slowly  back  towards  the  hotel. 
Milly  turned  to  me  suddenly. 

"  Have  you  any  idea  why  she  went  to " 

I  shook  my  head.  "  I  was  going  to  ask  you 
the  same  question." 

When  we  came  to  the  gate  that  led  into  the  hotel 
grounds,  she  stopped  suddenly. 

"  How  tired  you  must  be  after  your  long  jour- 
ney !  "  she  said  remorsefully.  "  And  I  have  never 
even  thanked  you." 

[297] 


THE    TRIFLER 

"  I  don't  want  any  thanks,"  I  replied.  "  Do 
you  understand  that  poor  Molly  is  suffering  for 
me?" 

She  nodded.  "  He — he  thought  it  was  Molly 
you  loved?  " 

"  Yes.  He  made  a  mistake,  for  which  I  thank 
God." 

She  looked  at  me  gravely.  "  I  would  to  God  he 
had  made  no  mistake." 


[298] 


CHAPTER  XXII 

MOLLY   RETURNS 

I  PASS  over  with  few  words  the  trouble  we  had 
that  night  with  Milly's  aunt.  I  have  no  doubt 
she  was  an  estimable  old  lady,  though  she 
insisted  on  regarding  me  as  a  wicked  young  man, 
which  is  an  awkward  and  embarrassing  role  to  fill. 
I  do  not  think  we  treated  her  with  much  tact. 
Milly  introduced  me  in  a  somewhat  casual  way  as 
Mr.  Fred  Trewint. 

"  I  have  heard  of  you,"  the  old  lady  said 
severely. 

I  expressed  my  gratification,  though  the  old 
lady's  expression  indicated  that  what  she  had  heard 
was  not  entirely  favorable.  Probably  she  had 
studied  the  local  papers  at  the  time  of  the  election. 

It  was  not  conciliatory  of  Milly — but  she  was 
obviously  preoccupied — to  announce  briefly  that 
she  was  leaving  for  England  the  next  morning,  in 
my  company.  The  old  lady's  face  was  a  study. 

"  A  word  with  you  alone,  Millicent,"  she  said, 
and  led  the  way  with  great  stateliness  to  another 

[299] 


THE    TRIFLER 

apartment.  When  Milly  joined  me  later  she  was 
in  a  state  of  amused  exasperation. 

"  The  dear  old  thing  wants  to  come  and 
chaperon  you — or  is  it  me?  "  she  said.  "  I  have 
had  great  difficulty  in  making  her  change  her 
mind.  However,  I  have  promised  to  take  her 
maid." 

We  left  the  next  morning  and  traveled  through 
to  London  without  stopping.  I  could  have  wished 
the  maid  had  remained  behind,  for  her  presence 
was  somewhat  a  bar  to  our  mutual  confidences. 
However,  we  were  able  to  discuss,  at  considerable 
length,  our  course  of  action. 

"  I  shall  go  straight  on  to  Sanquhar,"  Milly 
declared. 

"  But  you  can't  go  on  living  there  forever,"  I 
objected.  "  What  is  to  be  your  next  step  ?  " 

Milly  gave  a  little  shrug.  "  I  suppose  I  must 
see  father  and  arrange  something." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,  Milly,"  I  said,  with  sudden 
inspiration,  "  why  shouldn't  you  and  Molly  stay 
with  my  sister-in-law?" 

Milly  stared  at  me.  "  I  don't  think  that  would 
be  very  pleasant,"  she  replied  frankly. 

"  Perhaps  not;  but  won't  it  help  ?  " 

Milly  looked  at  me  thoughtfully.  "  I  have 
been  thinking  how  very  injudicious  it  was  of  Molly 
[300] 


MOLLY    RETURNS 

to  disappear  just  at  this  time.  I  expect  it  has  made 
things  ever  so  much  worse." 

"  Why  shouldn't  we  pretend  that  she  has  been 
with  my  sister-in-law  the  whole  time?  " 

Milly  came  over  slowly  to  my  view.  "  But 
what  will  Lady  Trewint  say  ?  Perhaps  she  won't 
like  it.  In  fact,  I  am  sure  she  won't.  You  must 
remember  that  Molly,  from  her  own  account,  has 
been  cut  by  everyone,  including  Lady  Trewint." 

"  That  will  be  all  right,"  I  answered  confidently. 
"  To  tell  the  truth,  Mabel  is  to  blame  for  the  whole 
affair.  It  was  in  helping  her  I  first  incurred 
Trefusis'  enmity "  I  stopped  rather  ab- 
ruptly. 

14  Was  she  the  person  for  whom  you  '  burgled  * 
Mr.  Trefusis'  rooms?  "  asked  Milly  guilelessly. 

I  looked  at  her  in  a  startled  kind  of  way.  "  I 
am  afraid  you  know  too  much !  " 

"  Seriously,"  said  Milly,  "  I  hardly  like  to  put 
this  burden  on  Lady  Trewint.  Of  course ,  I 
realize  how  much  her  protection  would  mean  to 
Molly,  but " 

"  Let  me  see  Mabel,  at  any  rate,"  I  interposed. 
"  Before  I  left  town  I  wrote  and  told  her  the  truth 
about  the  matter.  I  don't  suppose  she  had  re- 
ceived this  letter  when  she  met  Molly.  I  expect  to 
find  her  very  eager  to  do  all  she  can." 


THE    TRIFLER 

"  Well,  you  must  promise  not  to  press  her,"  said 
Milly. 

When  we  reached  London  there  was  only  time 
for  Milly  to  catch  the  night  express  for  Scotland. 
The  maid  I  dispatched  back  to  Caux. 

I  wrote  a  line  that  night  to  Mabel  to  say  I 
should  call  at  eleven  the  following  morning.  I 
knew  Mabel  well  enough  to  recognize  the  wisdom 
of  warning  her  before  making  a  morning  visit. 
The  next  morning  when  I  called  she  received  me, 
in  a  becoming  tea-gown,  with  effusion. 

"Oh,  my  dear  Fred!  "  she  cried,  as  I  entered 
the  room,  "  what  agony  of  mind  you  have  caused 
us!" 

"  Very  sorry,"  I  answered,  nodding  to  Gerald, 
who  was  present. 

"And  where  the  devil  have  you  been?"  asked 
my  brother,  not  returning  my  salutation. 

"  Oh,  I  had  to  run  over  to  Caux." 

"  A  nice  kettle  of  fish  you  left  behind  you,"  he 
growled. 

"Did  I?  You  must  remember  I  know  noth- 
ing." 

"  Oh,  Fred,"  Mabel  broke  in,  "  do,  do  tell  us 
everything!  Where  is  that  Telby  girl?  She 
didn't  run  away  with  you,  did  she?  " 

"  Bless  me,  no,"  I  exclaimed,  astonished. 
[302] 


MOLLY    RETURNS 

"  People  have  been  saying  all  kinds  of  things," 
said  Mabel.  "  Mr.  Telby  has  absolutely  no 
restraint,  and  he  has  let  everyone  know  the  girl 
has  run  away.  Some  say  she  went  with  you,  and 
some  say  she  is  hiding  till  Mr.  Trefusis  is  well 
enough  to  leave  the  hospital,  and  some  declare  she 
has  committed  suicide !  Oh,  my  dear  Fred,  there 
never  was  such  a  muddle !  " 

Gerald  eyed  me  sternly.  "  I  know  as  a  fact  that 
you  nearly  killed  Trefusis.  A  day  or  two  ago  the 
rumor  ran  through  the  clubs  that  he  had  died,  and 
that  a  warrant  was  out  for  your  arrest.  I  am  not 
a  nervous  man,  but  I  confess  the  news  alarmed  me. 
I  rushed  over  to  the  Home  Office  to  see  the  Home 
Secretary.  Luckily  he  was  able  to  reassure  me, 
but  I  spent  a  very  unpleasant  quarter  of  an  hour." 

"  I  am  very  sorry." 

"But  where  is  the  girl?"  persisted  Mabel. 
"  Do  you  know?  " 

"  Oh,  yes;  I  know." 

"  Where  is  she  ?  "  they  cried  together.  "  Where 
has  she  been  all  this  time?  " 

"  All  this  time,"  I  replied  solemnly,  "  she  has 
been  under  this  roof." 

They  were  silent  in  astonishment  for  a  moment, 
and  then  Gerald  burst  into  one  of  his  paroxysms  of 
abuse. 

[303] 


THE    TRIFLER 

"As  foolishly  and  feebly  flippant  as  ever,"  he 
exclaimed,  "  although  even  at  the  moment  the 
hangman's  noose  is  round  your  neck.  Frederick, 
you  are  incurable.  Pray  leave  me." 

"  Not  till  he  has  told  us  everything !  "  cried  his 
wife.  "  Now,  Fred,  dear,  do  be  serious.  Tell  us 
everything  right  from  the  beginning.  I  received 
your  letter,  asking  me  to  circulate  that  very  thin 
story  about  Miss  Telby  being  inveigled  by  a  trick, 
and  I  have  tried  to  do  so.  Frankly,  it  hasn't 
caught  on.  People  say  *  What  trick  ?  '  and  I  have 
no  answer." 

"  I  know,"  I  answered  moodily.  "  That  is 
what  they  would  say.  We  must  find  out  why  she 
went  there.  It  is  our  weak  point  not  to  know." 

"  Won't  the  girl  explain  the  trick,  if  there  was 
one?"  asked  Gerald. 

"  No." 

"  Hum."  There  was  no  difficulty  in  interpre- 
ting the  expression  on  his  face.  "  Fred,  my  lad, 
you've  had  a  narrow  escape." 

I  rose.  "  Gerald,"  I  said  solemnly,  "  you  are 
utterly  wrong.  Miss  Telby  is  as  pure  as  our 
mother  or  your  wife." 

Gerald  rubSed  his  nose  dubiously.  "  Maybe, 
but  circumstances " 

"  I  know  all   about  that,"   I   interposed   im- 
[304] 


MOLLY    RETURNS 

patiently.  "  And  I  want  your  assistance  in  ex- 
plaining them.  After  all,  you  are  chiefly  to  blame. 
I  don't  know  what  Mr.  Telby  and  you  thought 
you  had  arranged  between  you,  but  I  am  pretty 
sure  these  rumors  of  my  engagement  to  Molly 
would  not  have  been  so  persistent  if  you  had  not 
encouraged  them." 

Gerald  seemed  embarrassed.  "  It  would  have 
been  an  excellent  match  if  she  had  only " 

"  Possibly,"  I  said,  "  but  that  is  not  the  point. 
These  rumors  led  Trefusis  to  injure  her  reputation 
in  order  to  damage  me." 

My  brother  screwed  up  his  face.  "  This  story 
of  revenge  sounds  very  *  cock  and  bull,' "  he  re- 
plied. "  Why  should  Trefusis  want  to  injure 
you?" 

"  There  were  reasons,"  I  replied  evasively, 
aware  that  Mabel  was  in  a  state  of  nervous  tension. 
"  For  one  thing,  we  came  into  conflict  at  the  elec- 
tion." 

"  Oh,  of  course !  "  said  my  brother.  "  You 
hired  some  roughs  to  duck  him." 

"  I  did  nothing  of  the  kind,"  I  cried,  with  in- 
dignation, "  though  I  know  he  thought  I  did." 

"The  same  thing,"  replied  my  brother. 
"  Well,  no  doubt  that  would  not  dispose  him 
favorably  towards  you.  Your  story  is  that  he 

[305] 


THE    TRIFLER 

decoyed  the  lady  he  thought  you  were  going  to 
marry  to  his  rooms,  and  revealed  her  suddenly, 
under  compromising  circumstances,  to  a  crowd  of 
drunken  young  men,  in  order  to  destroy  her  reputa- 
tion and  so  revenge  himself  on  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  replied.     "  These  are  the  facts." 

"  Rather  an  elaborate  reprisal  for  a  simple 
ducking,  eh?" 

"  Trefusis  is  not  an  ordinary  man,"  I  answered, 
"  and  he  had  other  reasons  for  hating  me — reasons 
which  I  can't  go  into." 

My  brother  shut  one  eye.  "  I  suppose  that 
means  you  quarreled  over  some  woman,"  he  said 
coarsely.  "  Well,  well,  if  that's  the  story,  we  must 
make  the  best  of  it  for  want  of  a  better." 

"Why  did  she  run  away?"  asked  Mabel. 
"  That  was  so  foolish  of  her." 

"  Her  father — struck  her." 

Both  Gerald  and  his  wife  were  shocked.  "  Con- 
founded brute !  "  cried  Gerald. 

Mabel  put  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes.  "  Oh, 
the  poor  child !  " 

"  So  she  went  to  a  little  town  in  Scotland,  and 
there  she  still  is,"  I  continued.  "  I  rushed  over  to 
Caux  to  fetch  her  sister.  We  came  back  last 
night,  and  she  has  gone  on  to  Scotland  to  join  her 


sister." 


[306] 


MOLLY    RETURNS 

'  You  are  taking  a  great  interest  in  the  matter," 
observed  Gerald,  regarding  me  curiously.  "  I 
hope  you  are  not  *  gone  '  on  the  girl  after  all." 

"  Not  in  the  least." 

"  I'm  glad  of  that,"  he  said  more  cheerfully. 
"  Well,  what  do  you  want  us  to  do?  " 

I  paused  a  moment.  "  I  want  Mabel  to  tele- 
graph to  Miss  Telby,  inviting  her  and  her  sister 
to  come  and  stay  here." 

"  Impossible,"  said  Gerald  unhesitatingly. 

Mabel  was  silent,  and  I  regarded  her  anxiously. 

"  Remember,"  I  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  Molly  has 
suffered  for  me." 

Mabel  came  to  a  sudden  resolution.  "  Why, 
most  certainly,"  she  replied.  "  I  shall  be  most 
delighted  if  they  will  come  here." 

"  Will  you  send  a  telegram?"  I  went  to  her 
writing-desk. 

"  Why,  look  here,"  expostulated  Gerald,  "  I 
won't  have  this." 

I  handed  Mabel  a  telegram  form  and  a  pencil 
without  a  word. 

'*  You  want  her  to  come  at  once?  "  asked  Mabel. 

"  Of  course." 

"  I  understand."  She  scribbled  some  words 
and  handed  me  the  paper.  "  Will  that  do?  " 

I  nodded,  and  added  the  address.  "  May  I 
[307] 


THE    TRIFLER 

ring  the  bell?  "  I  asked,  and  rang  it  without  wait- 
ing for  a  reply. 

"Am  I  a  cipher?"  protested  Gerald. 

The  footman  appeared.  I  handed  him  the 
telegram.  "  Let  that  go  off  at  once,"  I  said. 

When  the  door  closed,  I  turned  to  my  brother. 
"  I  am  sure  you  don't  really  object,  Gerald,"  I  said. 
"  Remember  what  she  has  suffered,  and  if  Mabel 
takes  her  up  it  will  mean  so  much." 

"  Oh,  I  dare  say,"  he  grumbled,  "  but  I  want  to 
know  why  I  am  to  be  entangled  in  the  affairs  of  the 
Telby  family." 

"  Well,"  I  returned,  turning,  I  expect,  rather 
red,  "  there  is  one  reason.  The  fact  is  I — I  hope 
some  day  to — marry  Miss  Milly  Telby." 

"  Oh,  Lord !  "  exclaimed  Gerald.  Mabel  stood 
transfixed  for  a  moment,  and  the  next  she  was  em- 
bracing me. 

"  Oh,  Fred,"  she  cried,  "  and  you  never  told 
me !  What  is  she  like  ?  Is  she  pretty  ?  " 

"  She  will  have  plenty  of  money,  at  any  rate," 
observed  my  brother  thoughtfully,  "  but  at  the 

same  time "  He  strode  up  and  down  the 

room. 

"You  see,"  I  resumed,  after  I  had  satisfied 
Mabel  as  to  Milly's  personal  attributes,  "  I  want  to 
put  Molly  right  for  my  own  sake  as  well  as  hers." 
[308] 


MOLLY   RETURNS 

"  Of  course,"  acquiesced  Gerald,  "  this  makes 
all  the  difference."  He  frowned  thoughtfully. 
"  A  scandal  blows  over  very  quickly  in  London. 
The  girl  must  explain  why  she  went  to  that  man's 
rooms.  People  will  believe  anything,  if  it  is  put 
plausibly.  But  confound  it,  why  did  she  bolt?  " 

"  Why  can't  we  say,"  suggested  Mabel  quickly, 
"  that  she  has  been  here  the  whole  time?  " 

"Why  not,  indeed?  "I  asked. 

Gerald  took  hold  of  the  idea  quickly.  "  When 
can  she  get  here?  "  he  queried. 

"  To-morrow  morning,"  I  replied.  "  They  will 
leave  by  to-night's  train." 

"  I  will  take  Molly  for  a  drive  in  the  Park  to- 
morrow," said  Mabel.  "  What  a  sensation  it  will 
cause!  And  I'll  make  a  few  calls  this  afternoon 
and  tell  a  few  people,  in  strict  confidence,  that  she 
has  been  with  me  the  whole  time." 

"Of  course,"  I  said  modestly,  "  I  am  not  yet 
quite  engaged  to  Milly.  I  only  hope " 

My  gentle  disclaimer  was  ignored.  "  Telby 
ought  to  be  very  much  obliged  to  us,"  remarked 
Gerald,  "  for  all  the  trouble  we  are  taking  to 
arrange  his  family  affairs.  And  I  shall  see  he  does 
not  forget  it  when  the  time  comes  for  settlements." 

"  And,  Gerald,"  said  his  wife,  "  as  soon  as  the 
girls  arrive  you  had  better  see  Mr.  Telby  and  tell 
[309] 


THE    TRIFLER 

him  they  are  here.  It  will  never  do  for  him  not 
to  believe  our  story.  You  must  see  to  that." 

"  Oh,  I  know  the  brute !  "  returned  Gerald. 
"  As  soon  as  he  hears  Molly  is  at  our  house,  and 
knows  about  Fred  and  his  other  daughter,  he  will 
be  as  cock-a-hoop  as  possible." 

It  was  a  relief  to  feel  that  the  matter  was  safe  in 
Mabel's  hands. 

11  Well,  I  must  go,"  I  said.  "  Thanks  for  all 
you  have  done,  and  will  do.  And,  Gerald,  really 
and  truly,  Molly  is  innocent." 

"  Of  course  she  is !  "  cried  Mabel  indignantly. 

"  No  doubt  at  all,"  responded  Gerald  dryly, 
"  under  these  altered  circumstances." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

MATCHMAKING 

THJS  two  girls  arrived  at  my  brother's 
house  early  the  next  morning,  and  my 
sister-in-law  entered  vigorously  the  same 
day  upon  her  task  of  rehabilitating  Molly  in  public 
opinion.  The  process  Mabel  adopted  had,  at  any 
rate,  the  merit  of  directness.  It  was  effective,  too, 
amongst  the  circle  that  admitted  her  social  leader- 
ship. She  let  it  be  known  that  no  one  who  was  not 
convinced  of  Molly's  complete  innocence  need  call 
at  her  house.  It  became  at  once  an  article  of  faith 
amongst  her  set  that  Molly  was  an  "  injured  dar- 
ling," and  very  soon  no  gathering  was  deemed  com- 
plete without  the  lioness,  or  rather  the  lamb,  of  the 
hour. 

Not  a  few  misguided  women,  however,  persisted 
in  screwing  up  their  faces  when  Molly  drew  near, 
and  chief  amongst  these  was  the  Duchess  of  Hills- 
town,  who  was  reputed  to  consider  herself  the 
most  virtuous  woman  in  London.  Mabel,  with 
wonderful  courage,  took  immediate  steps  to  deal 

[3"] 


THE    TRIFLER 

with  the  recalcitrant  Duchess,  for  she  cut  her  Grace 
in  a  manner  so  direct  as  to  throw  a  crowded  draw- 
ing room  into  almost  unveiled  consternation. 
When  the  discomfited  Duchess  had  departed,  the 
hostess,  distressed  beyond  measure,  ventured  to  ask 
Mabel  what  she  meant. 

"  I  am  anxious,"  responded  Mabel  sweetly,  "  to 
keep  my  immediate  circle  unexceptionable." 

"  But  the  Duchess  is  surely — surely  most " 

Mabel  shook  her  head  sadly.  "  I  always  regard 
with  grave  suspicion  a  woman  who  is  prepared  to 
believe  too  lightly  in  the  guilt  of  another." 

Mabel's  "  cheek  " — for  there  is  no  other  word 
for  it — staggered  the  Duchess,  and  helped  to 
silence  calumny.  Everybody  not  the  less  believed 
the  worst  about  poor  Molly,  but  it  was  a  victory 
for  Mabel  that  they  said  so  with  discretion. 

One  day  Tarling  came  to  say  that  Mr.  Vicars 
had  called  to  see  me. 

"  Oh,  show  him  in,"  I  said,  greatly  surprised. 
What  could  have  brought  him  ? 

He  came  in,  evidently  ill  at  ease ;  and  we  did  not 
shake  hands.  "  I  hope  you  will  not  consider  I  am 
intruding,"  he  said  constrainedly,  when  the  door 
had  closed  on  Tarling. 

"  It  is  no  intrusion.     Won't  you  sit  down  ?  " 

He  sat  down,  and  cleared  his  throat  nervously. 


MATCHMAKING 

"  I  have  come  to  ask  you  a  simple  question,  and  I 
will  not  beat  about  the  bush.  Perhaps  you  will 
think  it  a  strange  one,  but  I  cannot  help  that." 

"  I  shall  be  pleased  to  answer  it,  if  I  can." 

'  Then  tell  me  where  Miss  Telby  is." 

"  Is  there  any  mystery  about  Miss  Telby's 
whereabouts?"  I  asked,  rather  surprised  that  he 
had  not  learned  what  the  whole  of  London  had 
known  for  a  week  past. 

He  made  a  gesture  of  almost  passionate  appeal. 
"  For  God's  sake,  do  not  fence  with  me !  Oh,  I 
know  you  have  cause  to  hate  me,  but  do  not  let 
our  past  relations  prevent  your  helping  me 
now." 

11  Why  do  you  come  to  me?  " 

r<  To  whom  else  can  I  go  ?  "  he  cried  fiercely. 
"  I  have  heard  the  miserable  story  which  couples 
your  name  and  Trefusis'  with  hers.  I  cannot  get 
information  from  Trefusis,  and  so  I  come  to  you. 
I  have  sought  for  her  in  vain.  If  you  know  where 
she  is,  tell  me.  I  want  to  go  to  her  and  tell  her 
that  I,  at  any  rate,  do  not  believe  the  lies  that  are 
in  everyone's  mouth  concerning  her."  He  rose 
excitedly.  "  She  must  need  me  now  if  she  is  in 
misery  and  alone.  You  have  cast  her  off  I  You 
can  have  no  reason  now  to  keep  us  apart." 

"  Let  us  understand  one  another,"  I  returned 
[313] 


THE    TRIFLER 

slowly.      *  You  say  I  have  cast  Miss  Telby  off. 
You  have  no  right  to  say  that;  it  is  not  true." 

He  stood  and  looked  at  me  with  something  like 
terror  on  his  face.  "Not  true?"  he  repeated; 
and  then  he  sank  back  into  his  chair  and  covered  his 
face.  "  I  hoped — I  believed  there  was  good  in 
evil;  that  a  merciful  Providence  had  allowed  her  to 
be  the  victim  of  these  slanders  merely  that  her  un- 
happy engagement  to  you  might  be  broken  off." 

"  If  Providence  has  so  acted,"  I  said  dryly,  "  it 
has  acted  on  insufficient  information.  I  was  never 
engaged  to  Miss  Telby." 

He  raised  his  head.  "Never  engaged?"  he 
repeated. 

"  Never.  You  have  fallen  into  the  same  mis- 
take as  your  friend  Trefusis.  I  am  not  and  have 
never  been  engaged  to  her,  and  at  no  time  have 
we  had  any  desire  to  be  other  than  friends.  I 
will  admit,"  I  added  after  a  pause,  "  that  I  have 
a  warmer  feeling  for  her  younger  sister." 

His  eyes  were  full  of  doubt.  '*  Trefusis  told  me 
that  you  had  admitted  your  engagement." 

"  Then  he  lied,"  I  replied  briefly. 

"Why  should  he  lie?" 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders.     "  There  was  a  feud 
of  a  kind  between  us.     Poor  Molly  has  suffered 
at  his  hands  because  he  believed  I  loved  her." 
[3H] 


MATCHMAKING 

"  Then  you  do  not  believe  in  her  guilt?  " 

"  No !  She  was  enticed  to  his  rooms  by  a  trick. 
I  don't  know  what  trick,  but  I  shall  find  out.  I 
am  only  waiting  for  Trefusis  to  leave  the  hospital 
to  force  him  to  tell  me  the  truth." 

He  shook  his  head.  "He  will  never  tell 
you." 

Something  in  his  tone  struck  me.  lt  Why  do 
you  say  that?  " 

"  I  saw  him  yesterday.  If  he  has  sinned,  God 
has  taken  the  punishment  into  His  own  hands." 

I  started,  for  I  thought  he  meant  Trefusis  was 
dead.  "  Surely,"  I  cried,  full  of  a  sudden  dread, 
"  his — accident  has  not  killed  him?  " 

"  No,  he  is  not  dead.  It  would  be  better  for 
him,  perhaps,  if  he  were.  God  has  taken  his  reason 
from  him." 

I  regarded  Vicars  with  open  mouth.  "  Do  you 
mean  that  Trefusis  has  gone  out  of  his  mind?  " 

"  It  is  so." 

I  could  not  speak  for  a  time.  "  It  is  so  unex- 
pected," I  murmured.  "  And  yet — I  wonder  if  it 
is !  "  I  wiped  my  forehead.  "  What  are  they 
doing  with  him  ?  " 

"  He  has  a  mother  in  Australia.  They  are  send- 
ing him  to  her." 

I  was  gradually  recovering  from  the  shock  the 

[315] 


THE    TRIFLER 

news  had  given  me.  "  Am  I — was  the  accident  in 
any  way  the  cause?  "  I  asked  suddenly. 

"  I  understand  not." 

"  It  is  really  a  very  sad  business,"  said  I,  con- 
siderably relieved  that  I  was  not  responsible.  "  It 
is  curious  that  I  have  never  considered  him  quite 
sane." 

"  You  have  not  told  me  Miss  Telby's  address," 
said  Vicars,  evidently  desirous  of  leaving  the  sub- 
ject. 

"  She  and  her  sister  are  staying  with  my  sister- 
in-law,  Lady  Trewint." 

He  gave  an  exclamation  of  surprise.  "  Does 
she  also  believe  in  Miss  Telby's  innocence?  " 

"Of  course,"  I  said  stiffly.  "No  one  who 
knows  Miss  Telby  believes  otherwise." 

"  Oh !  "  He  began  to  walk  about  the  room. 
"  I  wonder  if  I  may  call  on  her?  " 

"Why  not?" 

He  regarded  me  with  almost  eager  gratitude. 
"  Trewint,"  he  said  impulsively,  "  if  I  have  mis- 
judged you  in  the  past,  you  must  pardon  me.  I 
fear  I  have  allowed  myself  to  be  made  a  tool  of." 
He  stopped  suddenly  and  looked  at  his  watch. 
"  Will  you  kindly  let  me  have  the  address?  " 

"  Certainly."  At  that  moment  there  was  a  ring 
at  the  door,  which  I  guessed  must  be  Milly  and  her 


MATCHMAKING 

sister,  for  it  had  been  arranged  that  we  should  go 
together  to  the  Academy  that  afternoon.  "  I  will 
do  more  than  that;  I  will  bring  her  to  you." 

I  left  the  room  quickly,  and,  forestalling  Tar- 
ling,  opened  the  door. 

"  Molly,"  I  cried,  even  before  she  was  across  the 
threshold,  "  I  have  a  visitor  for  you." 

Her  great  eyes  opened.  "Not  papa?"  she 
asked  affrightedly. 

"  Good  gracious,  no.     Mr.  Vicars !  " 

She  gave  a  little  sob.  "  Oh,  what  does  he  think 
of  me?" 

"  He  thinks  what  we  all  think,  dear  Molly,  and 
he  is  dying  to  tell  you  so."  I  took  her  by  the  arm 
and  led  her  to  the  sitting  room  door,  which  I 
opened.  "  Go  in  and  talk  to  him,  like  a  good  girl," 
and  I  pushed  her  gently  in,  and  closed  the  door 
again. 

"  I  don't  know  what  we  are  to  do,  Milly,"  I 
said.  "  I  have  only  one  sitting  room,  and  that  is 
engaged.  We  shall  have  to  go  and  sit  with  Tarling 
in  the  kitchen." 

;'  That  will  do  very  nicely,"  she  made  answer. 
"  Perhaps  he  will  let  me  make  tea." 

So  we  went  to  the  kitchen,  much  to  Tarling's 
astonishment.     I  expressed  a  fear  that  we  were 
out  of  cake,  and  he  discreetly  disappeared. 
[317] 


THE    TRIFLER 

"  If  that  couple  in  the  parlor  don't  emerge  with 
everything  fixed,"  I  said  complacently,  "  I  shall  be 
surprised." 

Milly  laughed.  "  I  don't  want  to  criticise,  but, 
personally,  I  should  not  like  to  be  hustled  into  a 
room,  even  to  receive  a  proposal." 

"  I  will  adopt  a  different  method  in  your  case," 
I  said. 

"  Oh,  I  shan't  require  any  help,"  Milly  replied 
hastily. 

"Are  you  sure?  " 

"  Don't  let  us  talk  any  more  nonsense,"  she  said, 
coloring.  "  I  want  to  talk  seriously.  Night  and 
day  I  think  about  Molly.  I  lie  awake  wondering 
why " 

"  So  do  I." 

"  There  must  be  some  explanation  if  we  can  only 
find  it.  Something  quite  simple  and  obvious. 
What  is  it?" 

"  I  have  given  it  up." 

She  stood  with  a  tea-pot  in  her  hand  scrutinizing 
the  interior  rather  critically,  and  then  she  sighed. 
"  What  a  terrible  mess !  " 

"The  tea-pot?" 

"  Don't  be  silly.  The  tea-pot  is  all  right,  or  will 
be,  when  I  have  removed  the  day  before  yester- 
day's tea-leaves.  Why  did  Molly " 


MATCHMAKING 

"  Is  it  any  good  discussing  that  question  any 
more?"  I  asked,  a  trifle  impatiently,  for  I  wanted 
to  speak  on  more  personal  matters. 

"  It  is  the  only  thing  I  care  to  talk  about,"  she 
replied,  "  and  until  Molly  is  cleared  I  shall  not  talk 
about  anything  else." 

It  was  my  turn  to  sigh.     "  Oh,  Milly "  I 

began. 

'*  Where  do  you  keep  the  tea?  In  that  mustard 
tin?  Let  me  see,  how  many  of  us  are  there?  Mr. 
Vicars  and  Molly,  and  you  and  I — that's  four,  and 
the  tea-pot  one.  Five  spoonfuls.  Have  you  a 
spoon?" 

"  I  think  there  is  one  somewhere.  But,  oh, 
Milly "  I  paused. 

"  You  were  going  to  make  a  remark,"  said  Milly 
politely,  "  about  Molly.  What  was  it?  " 

"  It  wasn't  quite  about  Molly." 

"  Yes,  it  was,"  she  said  threateningly.  "  Molly, 
Molly,  Molly — always  Molly  till  everything  is  ex- 
plained satisfactorily.  Now  what  were  you  going 
to  say?" 

"  I  haven't  anything  to  say  about  Molly,"  I  re- 
plied sullenly. 

"Fred," — she  laid  down  the  mustard  tin,  "don't 
be  cross  or  stupid.  I  want  to  ask  you  something 

about " 

[319] 


THE    TRIFLER 

"Molly?" 

"  About  Gilbert.  I  want  to  ask  you  whether  you 
think  he  can  know  anything  about  the  matter?  " 

"Gilbert?"  I  repeated.  "Why,  he  was  hun- 
dreds of  miles  away  when  it  all  happened." 

"  Then  you  don't  think  he  has  anything  to  do 
with  it?  "  She  seemed  half  relieved  and  half  dis- 
appointed. "  It  seems  wicked  to  think  one's 
brother  is  in  any  way  to  blame,  but  the  thought 
keeps  coming  into  my  mind." 

"  Has  he  heard  of  the — scandal?  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Write  and  tell  him,"  I  said  briefly. 

"  Do  you  think  I  ought  to  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  He  is  sure  to  hear,  and  it  will  be 
better  that  he  should  hear  of  it  from  you  than  from 
a  stranger.  And  if  he  can  throw  any  light  upon 
it,  I  suppose  he  will  do  so." 

"  I  will  write  at  once,"  she  answered. 

At  that  moment  the  sitting-room  door  opened, 
and  Molly  and  Vicars  appeared. 

"  I  ought,  perhaps,"  said  Vicars,  with  unusual 
nervousness,  "  to  tell  you  that  Molly  has  promised 
to  be  my  wife." 

I  expressed  great  astonishment,  and  Milly 
hugged  her  sister.  After  I  had  tendered  my  con- 
gratulations, which  were  received  with  irritating 
[320] 


MATCHMAKING 

complacency  by  Vicars,  we  settled  down  to  tea. 
When  this  was  finished,  Milly  declared  it  was  time 
to  go  home,  and  we  all  set  off  together.  We 
walked  through  the  Park,  and  it  took  a  long  time. 
When  we  arrived  at  my  brother's  house,  we  left  the 
ladies  at  the  door,  both  Vicars  and  myself  deciding 
not  to  go  in. 

We  walked  away  together,  and  neither  of  us 
spoke  for  some  time. 

"  I  need  not  assure  you,"  he  suddenly  burst  out, 
"  that  I  have  the  utmost  faith  in  Molly,  but  I  will 
admit  it  would  gratify  me  if  she  would  tell  me  why 
she  went  to  Trefusis'  rooms." 

"Did  you  ask  her?" 

"  I  hinted  at  my  natural  desire  to  know,  but  she 
would  not  tell  me."  His  brow  contracted  slightly. 
"  Of  course,  I  did  not  press  her,  for  I  have  implicit 
confidence  in  her.  At  the  same  time,  it  would  be  a 
satisfaction  to  hear  her  explanation." 

"  Oh,  just  so." 

"  Please  understand,  however,  that  my  trust  is 
absolute.  Ah,  there  is  my  'bus.  Good-day." 


[321  ] 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

GILBERT'S  STORY 

MY  brother  was  deputed  to  call  on  Mr. 
Telby  and  inform  him  of  his  eldest 
daughter's  matrimonial  intentions.  He 
heard  the  news  with  little  concern. 

"  I  have  already  cast  her  off,"  he  said. 

Gerald  had  some  little  difficulty  in  making  him 
understand  that  the  house  of  Trewint  had  cham- 
pioned Molly's  cause,  and  that  she  must  be  at  once 
received  back  into  her  father's  favor.  As  soon  as 
Mr.  Telby  realized  that  Gerald  was  convinced  of 
Molly's  innocence  he  was  quite  ready  to  be  con- 
vinced also.  Gerald  explained,  at  length,  that 
Molly  had  been  inveigled  into  Trefusis'  rooms  by  a 
trick. 

"Oh,  a  trick?"  said  Mr.  Telby  doubtfully. 
"Is  that  so,  indeed?" 

Gerald  assured  him  that  such  was  indeed  the 
case. 

"  And— er — by  what  trick?  "  asked  the  anxious 
parent. 

[323] 


THE    TRIFLER 

My  brother  waved  an  arm  to  signify  details 
were  unnecessary,  and  Mr.  Telby  did  not  pursue 
the  subject. 

"  If  you  are  satisfied,  Sir  Gerald,  then  I  am, 
too,"  he  observed.  "  And  if  Molly  wishes  to 
marry  that — parson,  she's  welcome  to  do  so. 
Under  the  circumstances,  she  cannot  expect  a  better 
match." 

"  I  want  you  to  see  Molly  and  explain  to  her 
that  your  doubts  are  at  an  end.  I  hope,  too,  you 
will  meet  Mr.  Vicars  on  friendly  terms.  It  will 
look  better." 

"  Oh,  quite  so."  Mr.  Telby  began  to  see  that 
expediency  pointed  to  an  unconditional  acceptance 
of  the  situation.  "  Of  course,  I  want  to  help  the 
unhappy  girl — and  the  sooner  she  gets  married  the 
better." 

One  evening,  on  returning  late  to  my  chambers, 
Tarling  intercepted  me  at  the  door  to  tell  me  that 
Gilbert  had  been  waiting  my  return  for  some  hours. 
I  went  into  my  sitting  room  and  found  him  sleeping 
peacefully  on  the  sofa. 

"  Why,  Gilbert,  this  is  a  surprise !  "  I  said,  lay- 
ing my  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

He  started  up,  rubbing  his  eyes. 

"  How  late  you  are !  "  he  cried.  "  And  how 
you  frightened  me!  I  thought  it  was  someone 
[324] 


GILBERT'S    STORY 

come  to  take  me  to  prison.  I've  been  here  hours. 
What  time  is  it?" 

I  glanced  at  my  watch.  "  It's  past  twelve. 
Where  have  you  sprung  from  ?  " 

"  I  got  a  letter  from  Milly,  and  I  started  at 
once.  I  have  come  straight  here.  But  I  mustn't 
keep  you  out  of  bed.  I  will  go  away,  and  come 
back  to-morrow." 

"  You  don't  leave  this  house  to-night,"  I  said 
firmly.  He  was  looking  thoroughly  washed  out. 
I  got  him  a  brandy-and-soda,  and  a  touch  of  color 
came  to  his  face. 

"  Milly's  letter  frightened  me.  She  asked  me 
to  see  you  if  I  knew  anything  about — oh,  what  a 
brute  I  have  been !  " 

"  Tell  me  about  it." 

He  covered  his  face  with  his  hands.  "  It  was 
all  my  fault.  I  asked  Molly  to  see  Trefusis,  and 
to  promise  solemnly  to  tell  no  one.  I  never 
guessed  the  man  would  be  such  a  blackguard.  Oh, 
when  I  meet  him — if  I  dare — but  I  shan't  dare !  " 

'  You  need  not  fear  him  any  more,"  I  replied. 
"  He  will  not  trouble  us  again." 

"  Oh,  you  don't  know  him !  If  I  were  not  a 
coward,  I  should  kill  him!  If  I  were  not  a 
coward " 

The  despair  in  his  voice  made  me  feel  both  pity 

[325] 


THE    TRIFLER 

and  contempt.     "  How  did  Trefusis  get  you  into 
his  power  ?  "  I  asked. 

Gradually  he  told  me  the  story,  and  a  sordid 
story  it  was.  His  companionship  with  Trefusis 
had  opened  the  door  to  many  extravagances  and 
other  follies.  He  owed  Trefusis  and  others  of  his 
set  far  more  than  he  could  pay.  Beaumont,  in 
particular,  who  had  pressed  money  on  him  in  the 
earlier  stages  of  their  acquaintance,  became  the 
most  urgent  in  his  demands  for  payment,  finally 
announcing  an  appeal  to  Mr.  Telby.  The  threat 
threw  Gilbert  into  a  panic,  and  he  begged  Trefusis 
for  assistance  to  clear  off  Beaumont.  Trefusis  re- 
gretted his  inability  to  help  him  personally,  "  being 
short  himself,"  but  hinted  that  Gilbert's  own  bill, 
if  backed  by  a  "  good  name,"  could  easily  be 
negotiated.  He  told  Gilbert  that  it  would  not 
matter  for  what  period  the  bill  was — it  might  be 
for  three  years — if  only  it  was  backed  by  a  sub- 
stantial name. 

Trefusis  seemed  to  have  played  his  cards  skill- 
fully, and  by  innuendo  rather  than  by  direct  sug- 
gestion he  put  into  Gilbert's  head  an  easy  method 
of  shelving  his  difficulties  for  three  years.  At 
any  rate,  Gilbert  brought  Trefusis  a  bill  at  three 
years,  purporting  to  be  accepted  by  Mr.  Telby. 

It  would  be  absurd  to  pretend  that  Trefusis  did 
[326] 


GILBERT'S    STORY 

not  know  that  Gilbert  had  forged  his  father's  signa- 
ture. He  must  have  known  that  a  wealthy  man 
like  Mr.  Telby  would  not  hand  his  son  an  accom- 
modation bill  to  hawk  about.  However,  Trefusis 
took  it  without  a  word,  and  the  cash  was  at  once 
forthcoming.  Whether  the  plot  he  finally  matured 
was  at  that  time  in  his  mind,  or  whether  he  simply 
wished  to  get  a  hold  over  Gilbert — the  only  son  of 
a  wealthy  man — I  cannot  say.  Immediately  after 
Trefusis'  return  from  Trewint,  at  the  close  of  the 
election,  he  sent  for  Gilbert  and  told  him,  with 
every  appearance  of  concern,  that  the  holder  of  the 
bill  had  discovered  the  forgery,  and  had  deter- 
mined to  put  the  matter  into  the  hands  of  the 
authorities,  but  that,  at  Trefusis'  earnest  en- 
treaty, he  had  agreed  to  do  nothing  for  a  few 
days. 

"  Of  course,"  Gilbert  explained  to  me,  "  I 
thought  it  was  a  mere  matter  of  finding  the  money, 
till  Trefusis  made  it  clear  that  the  holder — he  said 
his  name  was  Leslie,  but  I  don't  believe  now  there 
was  any  holder  except  Trefusis  himself — was  de- 
termined to  inform  the  police  from  a  high  sense  of 
public  duty." 

I  nodded.  "  A  natural  explanation.  People 
always  act  from  the  highest  motives  when  they  re- 
fuse to  be  merciful." 

[  327  ] 


THE    TRIFLER 

"  Trcfusis  seemed  very  much  upset.  He  said 
if  it  had  only  been  a  matter  of  money,  he  would  sell 
his  shirt  rather  than  allow  any  harm  to  come  to  me. 
You  can  imagine  what  a  state  of  mind  I  was  in.  I 
was  just  starting  for  Egypt,  but,  as  Trefusis  ex- 
plained, I  could  easily  be  extradited." 

"  It  was  thoughtful  of  Trefusis  to  remind  you 
of  that" 

"  The  day  before  I  left  I  saw  Trefusis,  and  he 
told  me  that  he  had  done  all  he  could  for  me,  but 
without  success,  and  that  I  might  expect  to  be  ar- 
rested any  day." 

"  And  what  did  you  say  in  reply  to  this  cheerful 
information  ?  " 

He  flushed  a  dull  brick  color.  "  I  am  ashamed 
of  the  exhibition  I  made  of  myself.  I — I  quite 
lost  my  head,  and  I — behaved  like  a  schoolboy-1— 
or  rather  a  schoolgirl,  because  a  plucky  boy  would 
die  rather  than  do  what  I  did.  I — broke  down 
and  blubbered,  and  implored  Trefusis  to  help  me 
and  altogether — bah,  I  am  sick  when  I  remember 
it!" 

"  Your  nerves  were  overstrung,"  I  said  con- 
solingly. 

"  I  wish  I  had  shot  myself,"  the  lad  resumed 
moodily.  "  I  should  have  done  so,  if  I  hadn't 
been  such  a  coward.  Just  when  I  had  utterly  given 
[328] 


GILBERT'S    STORY 

up  all  hope,  he  told  me  very  reluctantly  that  there 
was  just  one  possible  chance." 

"  And  that  was ?  " 

"  He  said  that  Mr.  Leslie  was  a  very  upright 
and  honorable  man,  but  very  obstinate — except  to 
women.  He  went  on  to  hint  that  if  by  some  means 
Molly  were  to  intercede  for  me,  Mr.  Leslie  might 
relent." 

"  I  see." 

"Of  course,  I  didn't  like  to  bring  Molly  into  it, 
but  it  seemed  the  only  way.  In  the  end,  I  wrote 
Molly  a  long  letter  just  before  starting  for  Cairo, 
telling  her  everything,  and  begging  her  to  see  Mr. 
Leslie,  but  asking  her  solemnly  to  promise  to  tell 
no  one.  I  gave  Trefusis  the  letter,  and  after  I  had 
left  England  got  a  line  from  Molly  full  of  sym- 
pathy and  affection,  saying  she  would  do  what  I 
asked,  and  especially  promising  that  she  would  keep 
the  whole  affair  an  inviolate  secret.  I  heard  noth- 
ing more  about  the  matter  till  I  got  Milly's  letter." 

To  make  an  end  of  Trefusis  and  his  methods, 
I  may  here  say  it  afterwards  appeared  that  he 
called  at  the  Hotel  Cecil  and  handed  Molly  Gil- 
bert's letter,  who,  in  her  blind  devotion  to  her 
brother,  was  ready  to  do  anything.  Trefusis 
pointed  out  that  if  Leslie  knew  that  Molly  wished 
to  speak  to  him  on  her  brother's  behalf,  he  would 
[329] 


THE    TRIFLER 

be  certain  to  refuse  to  see  her.  He  therefore  sug- 
gested, and  Molly  willingly  agreed,  that  she  should 
call  at  Trefusis'  chambers  the  next  afternoon  at 
three  o'clock,  when  Trefusis  would  make  every 
effort  to  have  Leslie  present. 

Molly  called  at  the  hour  mentioned,  but  only 
saw  Trefusis,  who  showed  her  a  telegram  from 
Leslie  saying  he  was  detained.  What  was  to  be 
done?  Trefusis  explained  that  as  Leslie  was  to 
accompany  him  to  Australia  early  the  next  morn- 
ing, it  was  impossible  to  arrange  a  further  meeting. 
It  was  true,  he  admitted,  that  Leslie  was  staying 
with  him  overnight;  but  then,  as  the  telegram 
stated,  he  was  not  to  be  back  till  after  midnight, 
and  it  was  of  course  impossible  for  Miss  Telby  to 
see  him  at  such  an  hour.  Molly,  greatly  distressed, 
jumped  into  the  trap.  She  offered  eagerly  to  call 
at  any  hour  of  the  day  or  night  to  see  Leslie,  so 
that  she  might  save  her  brother. 

Molly  kept  her  appointment  by  the  simple 
expedient  of  descending  from  her  bedroom  shortly 
before  the  hour  named,  and  requesting  the  night 
porter  to  summon  a  cab.  Possibly  the  request  sur- 
prised the  night  porter,  if  night  porters  can  be  sur- 
prised. At  any  rate,  Molly  got  a  cab  and  drove  to 
Trefusis'  rooms,  with  the  results  that  have  already 
been  detailed. 

[330] 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE    END 

WHEN  Molly  learned  that  her  brother 
had  made  a  clean  breast  of  his  share  in 
the  episode  which  had  resulted  in  so 
much  suffering  to  herself,  it  might  not  unreasonably 
have  been  expected  that  she  would  have  welcomed 
her  deliverance  from  an  unpleasant  suspicion.  But 
this  was  not  the  case.  So  unreasoning  was  her 
devotion  to  her  brother  that  the  mere  suggestion 
that  Gilbert  should  bear  the  consequences  of  his 
own  folly  roused  her  to  leonine  wrath.  Her  anger 
directed  itself  chiefly  against  poor  Vicars,  who 
really  had  less  than  anyone  to  do  with  the  unhappy 
affair.  She  was  indignant  because  he  would  not 
exercise  his  authority  and  prevent  disclosure  of  the 
true  facts.  When  Vicars  pleaded  that  he  had  no 
authority,  and  that,  in  any  case,  her  good  name  was 
dearer  to  him  than  Gilbert's,  she  declared,  in  her 
anger,  that  she  would  never  speak  to  him  again, 
and  that  their  engagement  was  at  an  end. 

Vicars  in  his  distress  came  to  see  me,  thoroughly 

[331] 


THE    TRIFLER 

cowed.  "  I  think,"  he  said,  "  we  had  better  let 
things  rest.  As  Molly  points  out,  if  the  facts  are 
known,  it  will  mean  a  disgraced  life  for  Gilbert. 
Besides,  we  shall  live  in  the  country.  Really,  I 
don't  think  the  public  have  a  right  to  a  fresh 
scandal." 

I  am  glad  to  say  that  Gilbert  manfully  declined 
to  agree  to  this  cowardly  policy. 

"  Molly,"  he  said  slowly,  "  will  not  be  cleared 
until  it  is  known  why  she  went  to  Trefusis'  rooms. 
She  went  for  my  sake,  and  everyone  must  know  it." 

It  was  Mrs.  Fielders  who,  with  her  usual  acute- 
ness,  hit  on  the  via  media  that  was  finally  adopted. 

"  Why  not  tell  the  truth,"  she  suggested,  "  every 
word  of  it,  save  that  one  word  '  forgery  '  ?  Let  us 
say  that  Gilbert  was  being  pressed  for  money,  and 
that  Molly  went  to  intercede  for  him.  I  think  that 

will  do  well  enough,  especially "  she  added  in 

an  aside — "  as  no  one  takes  much  interest  in  the 
matter  since  she  has  decided  to  marry  a  dissenting 
parson." 

It  was  difficult  to  get  either  Molly  or  Gilbert  to 
accept  this  suggestion,  but  at  length,  after  a  con- 
ference in  Mabel's  drawing  room  that  lasted  a 
whole  afternoon,  the  proposal  was  agreed  to  by  all 
parties. 

As  soon  as  the  difficulty  was  settled  I  noticed 
[332] 


THE    END 

Milly  slip  away.     I  followed  her,  and  found  her 
on  the  balcony. 

"  Are  you  satisfied?  "  I  asked. 

"It  is  a  compromise.  Are  compromises  ever 
really  satisfactory?  Poor  Molly!  " 

"  But  Molly  is  going  to  be  very  happy." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  replied  brightly,  "  I  feel  certain 
her  troubles  are  over,  and  she  will  be  happy." 

"  There  are  others  in  the  world  besides  Molly," 
I  ventured  timidly. 

"  I  must  go  in,"  she  said. 

"  Not  yet,  Milly,"  I  begged.  "  You  must  hear 
me  out.  I  asked  you  once  to  marry  me,  and  you 
refused  because  I  was  unworthy.  I  am  still  un- 
worthy." 

Her  face  was  turned  from  me. 

"  I  suppose  I  am  a  compromise,  too,"  I  went  on. 
"  Good  and  bad  intermingled,  and  the  bad  pre- 
dominates. I  slither  along  the  surface  of  things 
with  hardly  a  thought  of  their  depth.  Lately  I 
have  been  trying  to  delve  beneath  the  surface,  but 
I  have  only  made  some  pitiful  little  scratchings.  I 
am  afraid  I  remain  very  much  as  I  have  always 
been.  On  my  merits  I  have  no  case,  but  I  love 
you." 

Her  face  was  still  turned  from  me,  and  it  was 
long  before  she  answered. 

[333] 


THE    TRIFLER 

"  You  say  you  are  unworthy  of  me,"  she  whis- 
pered. "  Oh,  Fred,  haven't  you  found  me  out  yet? 
If  you  compare  me  with  Molly,  you  will  see  how 
petty  and  superficial  I  am.  I  couldn't  have  sacri- 
ficed myself  for  Gilbert  as  she  did." 

"  I  don't  want  ^ou  to  sacrifice  yourself  for  Gil- 
bert, I  only  want  you  to  sacrifice  yourself  to  me. 
Don't  turn  away  from  me,  Milly,  because  I  want 
to  see  your  face.  Give  me  your  love,  Milly,  for  I 
require  your  help.  With  you  by  my  side,  I  think 
perhaps  I  can  go  on  digging." 

And  then  she  turned  towards  me,  and  there  was 
a  look  in  her  eyes  which  I  trust  will  never  pass  away 
while  life  lasts. 

"  Fred,  I  love  you.  You  know  I  have  always 
loved  you." 


THE    END 


<5.  33.  JSurgin 

AUTHOR   OF   "TAMALYN'S   GHOST,"    ETC. 


THE  SHUTTERS  OF  SILENCE 

The  Romance  of  a   Trappist 


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An  Amusing   Travesty  on  Reincarnation 
V 

A  YANKEE,  after  long  residence  in 
the  East,  has  become  an  adept  in  magi- 
cal arts,  and  on  his  return  to  America 
amuses  himself  by  occult  pranks  that 
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